Something to Fight For
by Gitana del Sol
Summary: draco 'meets' a girl who might just understand him, but is completely different than anythings hes known. smthg that he needs, but isnt sure how to deal with it. insight onto the life of a death eater. just smthg i've been playing with. strong T for ch.13
1. Chapter 1

**ok so i was watching the trailer for the 6 movie, and i realized just how much i love malfoy. well ok the actor. but then i was like "argh" cuz why does such a hot actor have such a bad character. and then i started reading the books and i did some psychological analysis for school and i found that i felt bad for him. well, even bad for him cuz i already pitied him when i first read book 6 and 7. so i decided to make up a character who would be exactly like him, but totally different. i got clippets of scenes in my head, im just trying to get it all stringed out and tied together right.**

**this starts off in chapter 23 of the DH book, "Malfoy Manor". **

**i don't own harry potter, or any of these characters and unfortunatly not draco.**

**i do, however, own the "girl in the cellar". :)**

* * *

A bell chimed from the entrance of the manor, alerting the Malfoys of visitors- no doubt more Death Eaters, Draco thought darkly. He, his father and mother were sitting quietly, once again, by the fireplace in the drawing room. Currently, he had a Charms textbook on his lap, attempting to complete the rest of the 40 inch paper Flitwick wanted completed by the end of the Easter holiday. His heart was not into it, however, as he had barely written two sentences.

"Go see who it is, Narcissa." Lucius Malfoy spoke quietly, breaking the silence for the first time that evening. His mother mumbled quietly about being ordered around in her own house, but gracefully rose from her chair and left the room. The drawing room once again fell silent, and Draco heard the low thud of the front door as his mother left the manor. His father returned to his previous engagement of staring into the flames dancing in the fireplace.

They were, Draco acknowledged once again, prisoners to their own house. His only escape was Hogwarts, where he continued to go to school, his seventh year. But even school was not much comfort. There, he was bombarded with accusing looks, frightened looks, glares that made his heart pound and stomach clench, made him want to scream. Except for his fellow Slytherins, who either congratulated him on his family's decline, or begged him for details of the Dark Lord. How he managed to go through it all until now, he had no idea. All of the original professors- for many Death Eaters were now teaching at the school- spoke to him coldly, from a distance, didn't glance in his direction unless absolutely necessary. He hated to be ignored at school, too, to be just another shadow.

He put on a great performance at school. His confident image of being the leader of the 7th year Slytherins had wavered slightly, but not much. It was he, Draco often reminded them, who bore the mark of being a true Death Eater, the highest honor the Dark Lord could give to anyone, he would often boast. But no one, save for one, knew how much he hated having the Dark Mark upon his left arm, branding him eternally, and quite against his will, to the Dark Lord. He was disgusted by what he had seen others do, sickened by what he himself had done, even under force. The taste of bile was constantly in his mouth, and he barely ever slept without fear, without tense muscles and alert senses. He was never him self anymore, as he must always wear different mask to those around him. Except for _her,_ the one who presented the most danger, to whom he had hated and despised, even feared, and ended up pouring his heart to her. And now it was _she_ who ruled his mind, his brain, his thoughts.

The soft opening of the door was not what snapped the blonde boy out of his thoughts, but the muffled ruckus that was slowly making its way into the Malfoy manor. He was surprised to hear so many footsteps- heavy, staggering, and loud, as they made their way through the hallway. He then heard his mother's voice, calm, cold and quiet. It was too low for him to hear the words, but he could hear the commanding aura in her voice as she took advantage of this opportunity to finally make decisions in her home. Draco did not move, did not turn around to further investigate who had arrived. But his heart began to pound painfully in his chest, and his mouth became dry as terror began to bubble in his stomach.

The door to the drawing room opened, admitting quite a crowd of people. Seeing that his father was rising to his feet, Draco quickly followed suit. He could not risk angering his father, not with _her_ hiding quietly, possible forgotten, in the cellar.

"What is this?" His father drawled, seemingly uncaring. Draco, after a quick glance at his father, turned to face the clutter of people standing in the middle of his drawing room. Who he saw sent nearly made his jaw drop. Fear mounted, and his palms began to sweat.

There were four men he did not recognize, but from their stance and attitude he assumed they were a group of Snatchers, eager to make any profit any way they could. The one figure he did recognize sent a chill up his spine, and made his blood freeze. Fenrir Greyback, the gruesome werewolf who the Dark Lord had permitted to walk around and dress like a wizard, in exchange for his services. Draco had seen the werewolf in action, and quickly developed a strong fear towards him. The werewolf could not, in Draco's opinion be considered human, or indeed an animal; he was far too cruel to deserve to be treated in any humane manner. Draco had seen the werewolf's attempt to raise an army of young werewolves. Greyback, however was so far gone in his lust for blood that he never could just have one bite. Had it already been a year since Draco had witnessed the slow slaughter of a six-year-old girl?

And just then Draco noticed the cluster of people at Greyback's feet. He became terrified, embarrassed, nervous and anxious all at once. For there, magically bound together, were his old classmates. He instantly recognized Ronald Weasley, red hair and freckles a clear give-away, struggling uselessly against the binds, blood beginning to crust on his face. The Mudblood, Hermione Granger, was strapped beside him, fuzzy brown hair loosely tied behind her head, eyes widened in barely-kept fright as her eyes darted around the room. Dean Thomas, another former Gryffindor from his year, stood quietly, flinching away from the werewolf, eyes downcast. Beside him was a goblin.

But there, standing in the middle of them all, was none other than Harry Potter. He had been jinxed, no doubt to hide his identity, his face all puffy and contorted, the lightning scare hardly recognizable as it was stretched across his puffy forehead. But it was the same untidy black hair, and the green that was noticeable even in the squinting eyes. He was terrified of having to condemn them all to their deaths, of having to watch; embarrassed that these Gryffindors- Potter, Weasley and Granger of all people- had to see him, a Malfoy, in this position; nervous, of what he may find in their eyes, as they would surely recognize him; and anxious for the what would be determined of his school enemies, but schoolmates all the same.

"They say they've got Potter." Narcissa answered her husband. Her tone was unnaturally cold as she addressed her son. "Draco, come here." Reluctantly, Draco shuffled to where his mother stood. Greyback eagerly forced the prisoners directly under the great chandelier, shoving Potter to the front.

"Well, boy?" The werewolf demanded before Draco had even reached his mother. Draco repressed the urge to flinch, and refused to meet Greyback's eyes. As Draco stopped before the prisoners, he realized that Potter was avoiding his eyes as much as he was avoiding Potter's. He was afraid of what he was supposed to say. If he confirmed they were not who they really were, would Greyback just end up having them? Would he have to witness his parents perform the _avada kedavra_ curse as easily as he could disarm someone? And if he did give away their identity, their fate would end in much the same way- everyone of them would be disposed of, while Potter would be left for the Dark Lord. They may have been his enemies at school, but they were still more than just sorrowful faces without a name. He had known these people since he was eleven years old, when he first began school at Hogwarts. Could he condemn them to death to save his family?

"Well Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?" His father asked eagerly. Draco's stomach knotted as his father's direct question hit him. What would his answer be?

"I can't- I can't be sure," Draco answered hurriedly. He could feel Weasley's eyes bearing into him, could feel the tension between the Gryffindors and himself.

"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!" Draco could hear his father's excitement, his eagerness to confirm that this was the famous Harry Potter, to turn him in and be done with it. It made Draco sick. Come closer? Every fiber of his being told him to run, to flee, to hide in his room until all this mess was over.

"Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv-" His father was cut off by Fenrir Greyback, but Draco understood Lucius's message, and it disgusted him.

"Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?" Greyback's tone was menacing, a clear warning that he too had something to gain.

"Of course not, of course not!" his father answered impatiently, brushing the threat away. Ignoring the werewolf, Lucius took two steps, so that his face was right next to Potter's. He inspected the bulging forhead.

"What did you do to him? How did he get into this state?" Lucius Malfoy directed his question to Greyback without looking away from Potter.

"That wasn't us."

"It looks like a Stinging Jinx... there's something there. It could be the scar, stretched tight…Draco come here, look properly! What do you think?" Swallowing hard, Draco reluctantly went to stand by his father, face bent close to Potter's, eyes averted to the ground. Fear clawed at his chest, as he answered his father.

"I don't know." Relieved, he walked back towards the fireplace, passing his mother, who stood watching the whole ordeal. He stared into the fire, back to the prisoners.

"We had better make sure, Lucius, completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord. They say that this is his, but it does not resemble Ollivander's description." Narcissa must have been indicating to the wand, but Draco did not turn. He prayed that they would not ask him to inspect the wand as well; he would recognize Potter's wand immediately, as he had often dueled and been paired up with the boy during classes. "If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing…remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?" Draco shot a glance at his mother, saw terror flash briefly on her face before she regained control and returned to the blank expression she usually wore now. Her eyes glanced at her son for a split second, and Draco knew what she was worried about. She was afraid that the Dark Lord would use him to take out his anger. The dark wizard had learned last year that causing Draco anguish would punish both the boy and his mother.

"What about the Mudblood then?" Greyback growled; again, it sent a shiver up Draco's spine. There was the sound of shuffling behind him, then a second of ragged breaths before he heard his mother's voice once again.

"Wait, yes- yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the _Prophet_! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?" Draco cringed at his summoning.

"I…maybe…yeah." He barely glanced over his shoulder. He wanted to disagree, but how could he when it was so obvious that it was Granger. Denying it would only drown him in trouble. He was glad, however, that his mother had not referred to her as "Mudblood". He didn't know why, but it bothered him when the werewolf used it. This wasn't the petty arguments of children anymore, where the worst thing that could happen was cleaning the trophy room without magic. This was the real world.

"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" His father's voice startled him, as it rang through the room at a barely managed shout. "It's them, Potter's friends- Draco look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name-?"

"Yeah," Draco cut him off, without even turning around. "It could be." He didn't want to hear anymore ideas, anymore plans, didn't want to be a part of this. He could almost feel the excitement rolling off of his father.

Just then the door opened again. For this, Draco did turn around, and who he saw made his heart beat faster, sink lower. There was to be no end to this now but torture and death.

"What is this? What's happened, Cissy?" His Aunt Bella, Bellatrix Lestrange, walked haughtily into the room. She circled the prisoners, hunter stalking prey. He had always admired his aunt, sister to his mother. He had always believed that she was quite fond of him. Granted, she missed much of his life, as she got herself landed in Azkaban for being a Death Eater. He had never believed her all that bad. Until now, now that he was back, stronger than before. She adored the Dark Lord, was ready to sacrifice anyone to be his right hand. A ruthless and thoughtless murderer, she had treated him like a lowly Muggle after the deal with Dumbledore last year, disgusted by his inability to kill. Weakness, she called it.

"But surely, this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?" Her voice was quiet, soft. But her words made Lucius's eyes sparkle in delight.

"Yes, yes it's Granger! And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!"

"Potter?" Aunt Bella's voice shrilled, disbelievingly. "Are you sure? Well, then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!" Draco was filled with a sense of dread. They were going to call him, the Dark Lord. They, his family, were going to hand this bunch over; they were all going to be murdered in his house. Then nothing would keep him from killing everyone who would not join him. Muggles, half-bloods, Muggle-borns…_her_, the girl in the cellar, _she_ would be remembered at last.

"I was about to call him!" Lucius's voice was angry, sharp. Draco turned his head to the left just enough to see his father's hand locked around his aunt's wrist, face incensed. "_I_ shall summon him, Bella, Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority-"

"Your authority! You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius!" Draco cringed at his aunt's insult. His father's wand had indeed been taken from him, and was humiliated for the continuation of the evening. "How dare you! Take your hands off me!"

"This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy-"

"Begging your pardon, _Mr._ Malfoy, but it's us that caught Potter, and it's us that'll be claiming the gold-"

"Gold!" Bellatrix's laughed rang through the room. "Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold?"

Draco tuned them out, and had he not been so frightened, he would have found the situation laughable. Here stood his family, grown respectable adults, quarreling amongst themselves like a pair of first-years. It was just like Potter, to attract commotion, to ask for attention. As if six years of love and awe from most of the students and staff wasn't enough. And for what, for having a stupid old scar on his forehead? Now here he was, turning his parents into complete fools. But maybe this was a good thing after all. No one had mentioned Draco at all for quite a while…maybe if he just snuck away quietly, he could hang out in the cellar…

"STOP!" Bellatrix's shriek startled him out of his musings, and made him whirl around. "Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!" Bellatrix's voice was shrill, high and, for the first time, tinted by fear. Lucius stood still beside her, left sleeve open and index finger hovering just above the large mark of a snake coming out of a skull. Bellatrix moved until she was directly in front of one of the Snatchers, and then she pointed to something.

"What is that?" She demanded.

"Sword," the reply was a deep grunt.

"Give it to me." Her command was a snarl. Curious now, Draco craned to see what all the fuss was about. Sure enough, a sparkling sword was propped up on the Snatcher's leg. The handle glittered with red jewels, the metal and shiny silver. It was quite beautiful, actually.

"It's not yorn, Missus, it's mine, I reckon I found it." Draco didn't even see his aunt pull out her wand before there was a loud bang, flash of red light, and the Snatcher was thrown against the far wall, Stunned. The rest of the gang of Snatchers were suddenly in uproar as they realized what had just happened. But in a split moment, Bellatrix and Stunned all three of the remaining men, and had brought Greyback to his knees, locking him there by magic.

"Where did you get this sword?" Her voice was just a whisper, such a contrast to the anger she was emitting just seconds before. She took his wand from his hand, and he growled at her, unable to do anything back.

"How dare you? Release me, woman!"

"Where did you find this sword? Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!"

"It was in their tent. Release me, I say!"

Bellatrix released him with a flick of her wand, turning her back to him to wander across the room in thought. Draco watched silently, sure that the werewolf would attack in fury, but instead he prowled away, a wary eye following her movements.

"Draco," the sound of his name sent him into a panic again, as he wondered what they would possibly have him do now. "Move this scum outside. If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me." Draco, relieved at finally being able to leave the room with an excuse, took a step forward. He didn't like to be ordered around, or to be reminded that he was weak and cowardly (especially in front of former rival Gryffindors), but it provided him a means of escape.

"Don't you dare speak to Draco like-" His mother spoke loud, arm extended out, preventing him from following his aunt's orders. She was furious, nostrils flared, eyes glaring at her sister.

"Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!" She was breathing hard, as she stared down at the sword. Again, had he not felt so frightened, Draco might have snorted. He wasn't sure why the presence of a glittering _sword_ was such a threatening problem. She was muttering to herself, and Draco caught words like "Dark Lord", "Potter", "…if he finds out…", and "must know…".She whirled back to face Narcissa once more.

"The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think of what to do!"

"This is my house, Bella, you don't give orders in my-"

"Do it!" Bellatrix was panting, seemed to be in a sort of frenzy. It frightened Draco, to see his aunt in such a manner. She looked _mad_, like a half-crazed Azkaban prisoner. "You have no idea of the danger we are in!" His mother hesitated, seemingly deciding whether to fight for her place or just give in to her sister's wishes. At the end she sighed, and sent Greyback to take the prisoners down.

"Wait. All except…except for the Mudblood." Bellatrix's new idea caused a frenzy. Greyback grunted gleefully, and Weasley was struggling against the minds and shouting.

"No! You can have me! Keep me!" He was silenced by a blow to the face.

"If she dies under questioning, I'll take you next. Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them-yet." Bellatrix cut Granger lose, and dragged her into the middle of the room, directly underneath the crystal chandelier. Greyback and the other prisoners were dragged away.

Draco staggered back towards the fireplace, heart hammering. His aunt pointed her wand to Granger, and without presenting a question, performed the Cruciatus Curse. Granger's screamed, and it rang in Draco's ear. His stomach churned, and he turned around, unable to face someone else being tortured- even if it was the Mudblood. Her scream continued until Bellatrix removed the curse long enough to begin questioning about the sword. And then the shrill scream pierced the air, begging now, pleading for the pain to end. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, bile beginning to rise. He couldn't take it. Dumbledore had called it love, but everyone else called it weakness. He couldn't handle it, couldn't handle the screams of terror, the cries for mercy. And he couldn't control his thoughts from drifting to _her,_ the girl left in the cellar.

What if it wasn't Granger being tortured, but her? The only reason she hadn't been taken care of was that everyone was now too busy searching for Potter. But once Potter was removed, she would be next. How could he handle it, live through her screams, her cries? He had never seen her cry, not once, not even whimper. She rarely showed fright, even when it was just them two alone. As Granger's screams ringed in his ears, he pictured her face, tried to erase the image of her lying broken on the floor. How could he continue with this life style, when she was the one who gave him strength? She was a fighter, full of fire that could not be tamed. If her light was put out, he would never be able to keep going, to put up with the killings, the murders, the pain, the constant terror.

Bellatrix was in frenzy now. Over and over, Granger denied knowledge of the sword, denied going into her vault. This time, she shouted the curse, and Granger twitched with pain, screams echoing around the room. Narcissa watched the performance without moving, her face blank. His father watched intently, eagerly waiting for any muttering of information.

"It isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!" Granger screamed, tears streaming down her face.

"A copy? A likely story!"

"But we can find out easily!" Lucius, speaking for the first time, seemed eager, like a young boy just before Christmas. "Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!" His father didn't look at him until he walked past him. One look into his son's face, and his expression dropped from glee to disgust. "Wipe that fear off of your face, Draco. This could be the means to our rise. You are a man now, it is time you start acting like one. I don't want to hear that my son is incapable of cursing someone. Now go get the goblin. The others are defenseless, can you handle that?" Sarcasm dripped from his words, and Draco hurried out of the room, down the hall and steep stairs. He glanced at his dim reflection in a window. His eyes were wide, the whites showing. His father was right- he looked like a child who was still afraid of monsters underneath the bed. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his wand from his robes.

"Stand back. Line up against the back wall." His voice shook, and he paused for a quick breath before continuing. "Don't try anything, or I'll kill you!" The threat seemed empty to his ears, but at least his voice was steady now. He hesitated before opening the door. Then he tapped the lock, and the cellar door swung open. He didn't glance around, but walked to the crumpled goblin. He didn't let his eyes wander, but looked straight ahead, to his target. He dragged him by the arm, and backed out the door, not speaking to anyone. But as the door closed shut, he caught the dark figure of the girl, curled in the shadows of the far right corner, the corner farthest from where Potter and his friends stood.

Draco dragged the goblin back up the stairs, to the drawing room where his aunt waited. As he entered the room, Bellatrix lazily flicked her wand at the girl lying on the floor. She screamed again and writhed in pain. Draco brought the goblin all the way across the room. He forced himself to turn, to at least appear determined and strong, and watch as Granger was tortured.

"You stupid Mudblood, you see that goblin over there? Bring him here, Draco. He will tell us whether this is the real one or a copy. He will prove if your story is true." As an extra measure, she cried "Crucio!" throwing Granger into another fit of screams. As the curse ended, the brown-haired Gryffindor laid unmoving on the floor, head in her arms, ragged intakes of breath. As Draco took the goblin to his aunt, he was surprised by how long she held out; her story about the sword being a copy must have been true, for he was sure that she would have eventually, as everyone else did, leaked the truth.

"What was that?" Lucius asked suddenly, loudly. Draco paused. He hadn't heard anything. "Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?" Bellatrix's brow furrowed. "Draco - no, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!" Draco blinked in surprise. Even though the twittering idiot of a wizard was staying at the manor, he was often used for petty tasks, reduced to being treated as the messenger boy. He looked at his father, but he was already summoning the stubby wizard. From all the Death Eaters, Wormtail was the only one who did not intimidate or frighten Draco.

But he frightened Draco now. No one went down to the cellar as of late except for Draco. Would he see the girl? Would he be the one who would bring her up, who would remind them all of the witch they were holding, the last of her kind? Then what would he do, where would he be left? He had opened up to her this whole year, shared hatred, anger and fear. Though he tried not to let it happen, though his mind told him to despise her, he considered her his friend. Maybe even more…

But he retreated from those thoughts in panic. No, that would not happen! Everything would be alright.

The room waited in silence as they heard Wormtail scurry down the stairs, pausing in front of the door.

"Stand back," they heard him call, in a much steadier voice than Draco's had been. "Stand away from the door. I am coming in." There was silence, before they heard a brief muffled gasp.

"What is it, Wormtail?" Lucius shouted.

"Nothing! All fine!" The Malfoys nodded- father, mother, aunt and son. But the stubby wizard did not return quite as quickly as he returned.

"That blundering fool! To think he now has the honor of being closer to the Dark Lord than we are." She hissed, and sparks flew from her wand. In her anger, she threw another curse at Granger, who screamed again, and then instantly fell silent. Draco felt his indifference waiver, but quickly fixed it upon his face.

Bellatrix looked down to face the goblin, thrusting the sword at him.

"Tell me if it is real, if it is the sword."

The goblin took the sword in his long fingers, feeling the hilt, blade and edges.

"Well? Is it the true sword?"

"No. It is fake." The goblin answered, his voice hoarse and low.

"Are you sure? Quite sure?" Draco shifted, puzzled. He had no idea as to why his aunt was so obsessed with this sword. What did it matter if it was real or just a copy? What did this sword have to do with Potter and the Dark Lord?

"Yes."

"Good." She breathed a sigh of relief, before flicking her wand. A slash cut into the goblin's face, and she caught the sword as he dropped to the floor with a surprise yelp. Draco staggered back in surprise; he had not expected her to do that to the goblin, when it had not angered her in any way. He almost pitied the goblin. He knew how painful the slash from Bellatrix's aunt was, as he had received it last year, when she had found out that he had not been able to harm Dumbledore. She had scraped his chest only once, before her screams of fury and his cry of pain alerted his mother that her son was being tortured.

The goblin rolled across the floor as the dark-haired witch kicked him away from her.

"And now, we call the Dark Lord!" Draco's heart thumped, louder, as he watched his aunt pull back her sleeve, pressing her forefinger into the black image. Unconsciously, his right wand went to finger his left arm, where his own Black Mark lay embedded into his skin. It burned for days, and lit on fire whenever the Dark Lord wanted to call his Death Eaters.

"And I think," Bellatrix continued. "We can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback take her if you want her." Greyback grinned eagerly, and Draco took another step back. He didn't care if his father would tell him he was disgusted with his behavior, he wouldn't- couldn't- watch the werewolf murder _anyone_.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The drawing room slammed open, and Weasley burst in, enraged.

Bellatrix turned, slowed in shock, lifting her wand. But the red-head boy was quicker, lifting a wand (surely not his) and disarming her. Behind him, Potter came chasing after him, and he grabbed Bellatrix's wand as it soared into the air.

Draco was in shock. How had Potter and Weasley escaped? Did that blubbering fool let them out? Frozen in surprise, Draco did not move. Until his father went down.

"Stupefy!" Potter yelled, and the spell hit Lucius straight in the chest, causing him to collapse where he stood. Angry, Draco aimed his wand at Potter. How dare he? How dare he burst in here and begin to harm his family. Didn't he understand that it was his life or theirs?

"STOP OR SHE DIES!" Draco's aunt had finally gotten over her surprise. She had the young Muggle-born witch supported against her, a small, silver knife to her throat.

"Drop your wands. Drop them or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is." He voice was a whisper, calm and dangerous. Weasley froze in place, staring at Granger with the most painful expression on his face. Potter stood from where he had ducked behind the large sofa. Both were looking at Bellatrix, as if to decide whether she was serious or not.

"I said drop them!" Her voice was a screech now, and she pressed the blade into Granger's throat, letting a drop of blood stain the blade of the knife. Potter and Weasley both dropped their wands, putting their hands up, fingers open.

"Good! Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!" Draco stumbled forward, bent to grab the wand that lay by Weasley's feet. The red-head hissed, and while the childish part of Draco wanted to sneer, to taunt the boy at his failure, a larger part of him registered the fact that the Dark Lord was coming, and that these two would witness his humility as he became no more than a servant to everyone else.

He hurried to Potter, picked up his aunt's wand. All three wands in his hand- Bellatrix's, the one Weasley was carrying, and his own.

"Now," the brunette witch continued. "Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight."

Draco glances at the werewolf, who looked like a small boy might on Christmas day. His teeth, pointed and leering, were flashing in the crystal light.

There was suddenly a grinding noise from above, followed by a creak and jingle. Everyone paused and looked up, in time to see the grand chandelier fall. Draco watched as, screaming, Bellatrix pushed herself away from Granger, rolling out of the way of the falling crystal. With a crash, and a shattering of crystal, the chandelier landed on top of Granger and the fallen goblin, who now held the sword, and the room went into chaos.

A shards of crystal pelted Draco's face. Instinctively, he bent over, hands up to protect his face. He felt something wet drip into his mouth. The metallic taste told him he was bleeding, and he could feel his eyes stinging. Suddenly, someone grabbed his hand, wrestling the wands out. Draco turned his body, so that his side rammed into his attacker. There was a low "umph", before he lost hold of the wands.

"Stupefy!" He heard Potter's voice at his ear before the werewolf flew into the ceiling, and then crashed into the far wall from the impact of a triple spell. Draco was surprised at the relief he felt. Greyback lay unconscious, and after the force of three Stunning spells, he would most likely not awake for a couple of days.

There was suddenly a sharp tug on his arm. Whirling around, he braced himself to simply swing a fist, before realizing it was his mother.

"Draco, come!" He allowed his mother to drag him into a corner of the room, away from the commotion in the center. It stung when she touched his face lightly. He flinched and she whimpered.

"Mother, I'm fine." He mumbled, trying to see around her. She ignored him and pressed the corner of her sleeve onto the dripping cut. It burned, and he shook her of in time to see his aunt grab the silver knife from the floor, her hair just as messy as it had been when she had first arrived from Azkaban. His mother looked over her shoulder, a worried expression on her pale face, and did a double take.

"Dobby!" She screamed, loud and furious. "You! _You_ dropped the chandelier-?"

"You must no hurt Harry Potter!" Came the responding squeak. Draco peered at the figure in the doorway. It was a house elf, and he didn't understand how his mother knew him. And then he remembered the house elf that they had had in his childhood. At the end of his second year of Hogwarts, his father had come home cursing all creatures, having lost their servant. He never did get the full story; but then he hadn't cared to listen to the venting of his father.

"Kill him, Cissy!" Bellatrix, wandless still, was shrieking again. She looked positively beside herself. A loud crack resounded through the room once again, and Draco involuntarily took a step back, eyes glancing at the ceiling warily. But the ceiling was not collapsing.

"You dirty little monkey! How dare you take a witch's wand, how dare you defy your masters!" It was then that Draco realized that the _house elf_ had performed magic and disarmed _his_ mother, an extremely capable witch. He felt irritated, even in his fear, and greatly insulted by this. Before anyone could move, Weasley disapparated, taking Granger with him. Potter grabbed the goblin, who held the sword in his grasp. Then Potter was disapparating, turning on the spot.

With a scream, Bellatrix hurled the silver knife at Potter's disappearing group. There was a slicing sound, and then nothing. Potter and his friends were gone. Draco, his family and Greyback were all that remained in the drawing room.

And the Dark Lord was on his way.

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**what do you think? i had to follow the chapter for this one, so there was no room to really just write what ever i wanted to. im trying to develop malfoy's character, keeping him sneering and snobby but with reason to be, so if ever it looks like he's becoming to "gryffindor-ie" please let me know.**

**please review!!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok, hopefully i will actual finish this. i had a lot of fun writing this chapter. one thing im changing that i didnt like that rowling did was that she made slytherins seem bad. like evil. they arent evil. their personalities are just more succeptable to folllowing who ever benefits them the most, which is the one of highest power. slytherins are clever, sneaky, determined, and ambitious.**

**i dont own anything related to harry potter. the only thing here that i own is my OC~ Kate.**

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Draco hurried down to the cellar, his right hand clutching his bleeding face. Damn Potter! Did he have to make it all worse? Now the Dark Lord was on his way over. He would come expecting Potter; instead, he would receive nothing, and he and his family would feel his wrath- again.

But he couldn't focus on that now. Right now, he had to get her out.

The cellar door swung open the moment he tapped the lock, as if sensing his urgency.

"Kate!" He called in a barely hushed whisper. "Kate you need to get out-" Draco gaped at the cellar which had held seven people on his departure with the goblin. Now, the only figure remaining in the dark room was her.

"Oh, Draco, I'm not sure what happened!" She seemed breathless, and her thoughts came out in a rush. "They were talking and then you came and left and then this house elf popped in here and it just _disappeared _with the old man and blonde girl. And then that rat-man came and ended up suffocating himself and they just left him there-"

"Kate! Listen, I don't know what happened, but we need to get you out of here! You-Know-Who will be here soon, and they are going to search this room." Even in the darkness, he could see her breath catch, her face paling as she grasped the seriousness of the situation. Her voice was even when she spoke, however.

"Where?"

"My room. They won't check there, only the cellar. I have an enchanted chest, in any case, in the back of my closet. You'll wait there." He grabbed her hand and turned to pull her out the door, but stumbled on something on the way out. Looking down, his stomach churned as he realized it was Wormtail, purple-blue and dead, silver hand clutching his throat. The blonde boy didn't know what had happened, but he didn't have time to think about it.

"C'mon," he dragged her by the hand out of the dark enclosure, up the steeps marble steps. But instead of returning to the drawing room, where his family awaited him, he continued down the hall, flying up the stairs at the end two at a time. She stumbled once, but quickly steadied herself and pushed on. Finally, the two teens reached the third floor. Rushing to the right, Draco threw open his bedroom door, jumping around a pile of discarded textbooks and Quidditch papers. He nearly unhooked the closet door from its glider as he wrenched it open, pushing through the clothes that the house elves washed, ironed and tidied.

Why did he have all of this stuff? He hadn't even worn most of the stuff in here. But he finally found what he was searching for, and he instantly forgot his musings.

"Alright, Kate, here it is." She was by his side in an instant, her hand lightly brushing his, big brown eyes meeting his grey ones. To his surprise, a shiver of delight ran up his spine, and he wasn't quite so afraid anymore. But his mind took control again, and he shook it off, looked away.

"Hide in there," He instructed gruffly, motioning to the open chest. "I'll get you when it's safe.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Draco looked at her briefly. She was of average height, much shorter than his own five feet, ten inches. Her light brown hair was streaked with blonde. It lay in tangles, neglected, after nearly eight months of being in the cellar, forgotten by all but him. It hung down to almost her waist now. Her skin was milky-pale, no longer the sun-kissed brown she had been when she had been captured by Dolohov about a year ago. Her eyes were big, laced with dark lashes, starting out as a honey brown in the center, growing to a chocolate brown on the outside. But a year of confinement had not put out the fire that danced behind those eyes, or the spirit that allowed her to fight when so many had weakened in this method of torture.

She was part of a hidden group of witches and wizards, who practiced the Ancient ways. They did Earth Magic, and were born with innate talents and capabilities. Kate, for example, had what she called "animal magic". She could talk to animals, and even transfigure into one. They understood her, and she understood them. These types of wizards lived in rural areas, silently practicing "the ways of the Old". Over the years, Kate had explained, the numbers of these wizards had diminished, as more and more began to use wands, and learn the ways of contemporary magic. But the Dark Lord discovered them, and sent his Death Eaters on their villages. Every single one was murdered at the hands of the ever-growing dark wizard. All the inhabitants of the village lay cold on the ground, save for Kate, who was brought in by Dolohov, who wanted to see just how long she would last. She endured days of endless torture, her screams ringing throughout the manor. But she kept her dignity, spilled no secrets, fought back every time.

Until another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was due to begin, and the Death Eaters turned their attention to more pressing matters- Harry Potter.

"Go on in then. I'll leave it open." Kate nodded, dropping into the chest, which magically enlarged on the inside to allow her to sit comfortably. She smile dup at him.

"Come back for me, Draco."

"Promise." He answered, with a small smile. Then he closed the closet, the door to his room, and hurried to the drawing room. His heart began to beat harder and he could taste fear in his mouth. He went to stand by his mother, who swallowed and place a pale hand on his shoulder. As he heard the Dark Lord arrive, he began to sweat, and prayed that he would live to see tomorrow.

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He cringed as she placed the cold wet cloth on his wounds.

"Ouch! That hurt!" He whined in a whisper.

"Ay, stop being such a baby, Draco. I'm almost done, let me just dress this cut. He likes to psychologically hurt people more than he likes to physically hurt them." She added darkly, as she grabbed the tub of the clumpy yellow-green substance. Kate had prepared the goo for him especially, a mixture of honey, water, and herbs in which she gave him exact instructions, and got him three days worth of detention for. She dabbed two fingers into the goo, and gently rubbed it on Draco's open flesh. He hissed when she touched a particularly sore area, but did not pull away as she continued to lather his arms with it.

"I still don't see why I couldn't just heal them myself. I do have a couple of spells that heal cuts and bruises." He mumbled, attempting to save face. It was odd, for Draco, to have the need to appear tough, to not care what happened to him. It was, he thought wryly, an extremely Gryffindor thing to do.

"Yes, but in case you haven't noticed, you don't have your wand." She retorted matter-of-factly. "And shut your trap Draco, I know they hurt, that guy is crazy, and, no offense or anything, but your aunt is a mega bitch and adores him. I know what he did- and don't tell me he didn't, I could hear you screaming- he used that _crucio _curse on you, and-"

"Please, don't," Draco interjected, squeezing his eyes close. "Please don't say anything You-Know-Who says. I can't stand it that the only spells you know are the Forbidden Curses." She fell silent, and he knew what she was thinking. Those were the only spells she knew, because it was the only ones she had heard anyone use. She had been under the Cruciatus curse for weeks, and had witnessed the effect of being put under the Imperius curse. And of course, the Killing curse, the curse his parents had used to kill her family.

The pair fell quiet for a while. Draco felt a whisper on his left arm. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw Kate tracing the snake softly with her fingers, her face knotted into a grimace.

"Hey, only two more days of holiday. Then I go back to school." He whispered, breaking the silence with forced cheeriness.

"How is that a good thing? When you leave, I go hungry. And bored." She answered bitterly.

"But don't I leave you enough food? I learned that spell last year. It doesn't wear off for a long time."

"Draco, I can't keep living off of sandwiches. I transform into a small rodent sometimes so that I don't have to eat as much. But it takes energy to do that, and I have to be careful that I don't lose who I am as a human. I can't keep living like this; it's going to drive me mad! Especially when I'm not let out during the nights." Even in a whisper, her voice carried the bite of her thoughts.

He fell silent, thinking. He gazed out the window, at the dark sky, grateful for the night. The house was theirs at night, when his parents were asleep, and vacant of jeering Death Eaters, huge snake, and cruel master. It was his time to be able to feel what he was feeling without restraint, to think. As Draco stared out the window, a plan came to him.

"Then you won't have to keep doing that. Like I said, school starts in two days."

"Yea, for you." She rolled her eyes. "I'm just going to be locked up again in this house. If I can't go back to the cellar, where am I going to be imprisoned now?" Her tone was sarcastic, and it irritated Draco.

"Look, it isn't my fault that you were caught, ok? I'm sorry my parents are both Death Eaters, but there isn't much I can do now. Can you stop being so bitter?"

"Well, I'm not exactly happy at the situation. How can I, when I'm stuck here in _your_ house." That stung.

"Hey, I didn't bring you here, ok? And yea, I know it's my house, but I also know that if it hadn't been for me, you would have died in that cellar a long time ago. I could be killed for taking you out, but I'm doing it anyways, even though you can transform right now and leave." He whispered angrily. They fell into an uncomfortable silence.

"I'm sorry." Kate mumbled finally. "It's just that…I'm not used to be cooped up. I haven't been outside in a year, Draco, and it's getting to me. But I don't want to leave, because even though they have forgotten about me, if they all of a sudden remembered, he's going to take out his anger on you." Draco nodded an apology. A part of him wanted her to go and save herself. But another part, the selfish part, wanted her to stay, because if she stayed, he had somebody to talk to, somebody who didn't care, didn't make him feel like a fool, when he yelled and screamed and cried.

"So anyways, what was your idea then?" Draco let out a tiny smile.

"Hogwarts has lots of food, not just sandwiches. If you don't want to stay here, just come to school…with me."

"Yea," she snorted. "And when the Death Eaters pull me over and ask me who I am, I'm just going to answer that I'm an escaping prisoner. And say you do sneak me in. What house am I going to say I belong into? And will I even be able to see this damn castle?"

"The Death Eaters won't pull you over because you will be inconspicuous. You should be able to see the castle, because you aren't a Muggle. You have magic, it isn't like you can't use a wand or anything. Your just…another type. And you'll be in Slytherin, of course."

"OK, well, how about when I need to know professors and people and classes? I can't pass as an eleven-yea-old anymore."

"You won't have to do any of that." He answered, grinning now. "Everyone knows I've always wanted a cat." Kate just stared at him, finally understanding his plan. For the first time, her face was blank. He swallowed, suddenly worried at her reaction, needed to know what she was thinking. "We are allowed to have owls, rats and toads, too. I mean, I figured cat, because I didn't think you would like being a rat or toad. And if I had an owl, my parents may want to use you to pass mail, and I don't want it too get too complicated. But I mean you can be any of those, if you don't want to be a cat."

"Draco, shut up for a sec. This might actually work. How are you going to tell your parents you got landed with a cat. You aren't going to be allowed to go to Diagon Ally by yourself." Draco shrugged, a lock of blonde hair falling into his eyes.

"I found you on the streets. I'll make up something; I'm good at that." She nodded, reaching out to brush the lock back away from his face. As her fingers made contact with his face, his arms broke out in tingles, which quickly spread to the rest of his body. He ignored the feeling, cursing himself for getting so weird whenever she touched him now. She sighed then.

"Alright. It beats being here, that's for sure." Draco let out a smirk, quickly regaining control, letting her know that he had known she would give in. "Don't smirk at me, Draco Malfoy! I can always change my mind." She threatened quietly. The blonde wizard laughed softly.

"But you won't."

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**yay! so what do you think? i know this is so much shorter than the other chapters, not even 3000 words, but it worked for me.**

**please please please review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**i do not own any of the orignal harry potter characters, J.K. Rowling does.**

**longer chapter than the last one, but not nearly as long as the first one. daphne's personality is of my own imagination, but if there is smthg no right with pansy please let me know. i am a bit biased though - i think she's down-right foul. i hate her**

**enjoy! :)**

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Draco Malfoy stood behind a dark-haired six-year Hufflepuff, waiting to be checked onto the Hogwarts Express. He could see his parents waiting in the shadows, silent and still, with well-practiced blank faces. After the humiliating incident at the manor with the Dark Lord, they were anxious of being seen, of running into fellow Death Eaters and having to live down the sneers and taunts. His aunt Bellatrix was extremely distraught, as she had been the most excited at being able to hand over Potter. Once again, she was dragged down by failure. She had begged him to forgive her, told him that she devoted herself to him, that she would never have called had it not been true, that Potter really had been there.

She got off easy. His father was severely punished, while his mother had to once again witness the torture of her son and husband. The Dark Lord had left Narcissa sobbing and begging for mercy for her son.

Absentmindedly, he reached up a hand to scratch the cat on his shoulders behind the ears. Kate, taking the impersonation of a cat to a whole different level, purred softly. She had taken the form of a short-haired tabby, her fur the same color as her hair when human. He got goose bumps as she laid her head on his collarbone, long whiskers tickling his neck.

The Hufflepuff was admitted, and it was then his turn to get checked off. Draco approached the tall man, who held a list and quill in his hands. The blonde boy licked his lips nervously as he recognized Avery, one of the Death Eaters.

"Well, well, well, Mr. Malfoy. I'm surprised to see you come back in one piece…and your parents." Avery's gaze shifted to where his parents stood beneath the pillar. "The Dark Lord is very angry at the Malfoys. I don't believe there is any chance of them returning to being his most trusted supporters now." The tall Death Eater "tut-tutted" softly, eyes jeering. Draco felt Kate tense by his neck, felt the prickling of half-extended claws on his shoulder. Draco shifted uncomfortably beneath the claws and mocking gaze of Avery. It didn't help that he could feel the eyes of the Slytherin third-year behind him bearing into his back.

"In you go, _Mr. _Malfoy." He sneered, crossing off Draco's name from the parchment. Draco rushed past him, lugging his trunk onto the red train. He shoved his way past a couple of Gryffindors, who were leaning out the window, waving to parents. Finding an empty compartment, Draco slid into it. Kate hopped off his shoulder and onto the cushioned seats. She pranced to the large window, placing two front paws on the glass. Draco couldn't help but grin as he watched Kate's head bounce back and forth as she followed figures with her eyes, ears pricked forward.

"You know, you make a pretty good cat." He told her, hoisting his trunk into the upper luggage compartment. She flicked the tip of her tail, hissing lightly. She did not, however, tear herself away from the window. He didn't blame her; it was the first time she had been out of the manor in about eight months.

Just then, the compartment door opened. Startled, and no doubt thinking it was another Death Eater, Kate whirled around, back arched, claws unsheathed, all senses alert. Now on the train, Draco remained calm as he turned to door of their compartment. He was ready to snap at any intruding first or second years, but the figure at the doorway was one he recognized. She was short, petite, with short black hair framing her small face.

Pansy Parkinson.

"Hello, Draco!" She greeted him happily. "Did you enjoy your holidays? My parents, brothers and I traveled to France for five days." She fluttered her eyelashes. "Help me with my trunk?" Draco returned the smile with a half one before grabbing her trunk and lugging it overhead. She nodded her thanks, giving a tiny smile.

Draco sat back down, suppressing a sigh. He had really wanted to talk to Kate on the trip back to school. But he supposed Pansy would do, too.

Pansy moved as if to sit next to him. She reached out a hand, as if to touch Draco's blonde hair, which had gotten considerably longer since the beginning of the school year…

Kate twitched her tail in irritation, and lightly leaped into Draco's lap with the grace of a cat. Gazing straight into Parkinson's eyes, she hissed, pulling lips back to reveal two sharp incisors.

"Oh," Pansy gasped, surprised. Her hand instantly dropped back to her side, and she stopped on her advance. "I-I didn't know you had a cat."

"Mother and Father bought her for me during the holidays." Draco lied nonchalantly. He ran a finger down Kate's spine, firm, signally that she calm down. Kate, however, continued to watch the Slytherin witch with the most intense and mistrusting stare, although she did let her hair lie flat.

"What is her name?" Pansy asked politely, eyeing the cat warily. She appeared to be pondering whether to ignore the cat and sit next to Draco, or to heed the cat's warning and just sit in front of him. Draco paused before answering.

"Phoenix." He answered, the corner of his mouth tilting up. Yes, the name would do for Kate, who could fight as reckless as fire, but could eventually be tamed. Pansy, thinking the smile was for her, grinned back.

The compartment door opened once again. Daphne Greengrass entered, the green scarf around her neck matching her green eyes. She was a pretty girl, of average height, tight chocolate brown curls hanging down her back. She greeted Pansy with a hug and a peck on the cheek. She then turned to smile at Draco.

"Hey, Draco." She greeted him, before bending down to kiss his cheek as well. She twirled around to face her trunk. Grabbing it with two hands, she hauled it overhead, before plopping down on the seat of the train, directly in front of Draco.

"I was one of the last people to get on. I believe we will be leaving shortly." And sure enough, no sooner had she informed them of that, the whistle blew, signaling the departure of the Hogwarts Express.

The train lurched to a start. Pansy, still standing, staggered back to sit beside her friend. Kate, or "Phoenix" rather, hopped over to the window once more, watching as Platform 9 ¾ pass behind them as the train pulled out of King's Station.

They were off to Hogwarts.

Pansy and Daphne chatted for a while, relaying their stories of incidents that occurred over the holidays. Draco spoke very little, and after a while his Slytherin classmates stopped trying to incorporate him into the conversation.

"You alright, Draco?" Pansy has asked, concerned.

"Yea, just tired."

"Long holiday?" she had given him a sympathetic smile, which he returned, along with a nod and a well-timed yawn. He excused himself before lying across the seat. He had closed his eyes and feigned a nap, perfectly at ease in the small train compartment. He sincerely doubted that he would have to fear being attacked by Pansy Parkinson or Daphne Greengrass. Kate remained balanced by the window, watching the Scotland greenery roll by as the Hogwarts Express pressed on.

He must have dozed off, because an hour later he was awakened by a weight dropping onto his chest. Opening his eyes, Draco nearly jumped out of his skin as he stared straight into a pair of light brown cat eyes, before he recognized them as Kate's. Even as a cat, there was no mistaking the amused expression on her face as she noticed that she startled him.

"Oh, shut up," he mumbled, and brushed her off; being a cat, she landed on the floor gracefully. Sitting up, Draco realized that he was the only person in the compartment.

"Where did Pansy and Daphne go?" he asked the cat. Kate pointed her nose towards the door. Sighing, Draco got up, opened the door, and peered out. There stood Pansy and Daphne, laughing with a pair of seventh-year Ravenclaws, Mandy Brocklehurst and Anthony Goldstein. They, along with a second-year Slytherin and two fourth-year Gryffindors, were standing around a plump middle-aged lady pushing a trolley. The trolley was laden with sweets and, as one of the Gryffindors shifted, Draco could make out piles of Chocolate Frogs and Fudge Balls, Licorice Wands and Bertie Botts' Every-Flavor Beans, Cockroach Clusters, Fire Pops and Fizzing Whizzbees.

The Gryffindors, who, like most of the students in the school, walked in pairs now, paid the trolley lady for a handful of sweets and turned to walk down the hallway. He recognized them as Natalie McDonald and Jimmy Peakes. They gave him as wide a birth as the hallway would allow and, when down two compartments, Natalie scowled at him over her shoulder. The two disappeared into a compartment four down from his own. Annoyance bubbling in his chest, he debated whether to grab his wand and go teach her a lesson. He decided against it. Instead, he pulled his head back in and turned to face Kate the cat, who was sitting dead center of the compartment floor, bushy tail curled around her paws, watching him.

"You're going to have to be friendlier to people when we get there. Pansy isn't going to hurt you; she barely made it passed her Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.'s. She was very upset about it, especially when that Muggle-born Granger got higher scores than she did on every exam." Draco smirked, recalling how Pansy had whined and cursed and shouted. She was hopeless at Herbology, and was frustrated when she found out that even pathetic, cry-baby Longbottom had gotten higher marks than her in a subject. Millicent Bulstrode had the unfortunate occasion of having had laughed at Pansy, who became infuriated and performed the Furnunculus Curse. Millicent was sent to the hospital wing with large boils all over her body.

Kate cocked her head to the side, eyes unblinking. Draco knelt in front of her.

"When we get to Hogwarts, it'll be evening. We should have about an hour before dinner is served. You can check out the common room and the dormitories once we get there; you're going to have to wait until night to bathe, because there's no way you can bathe before then without getting caught. The Slytherin common room is underneath the lake, so everything is kind of greenish. It's pretty cool, actually." He grinned, picking her up by the stomach and placing her on the seat. She yowled indignantly, and swiped as his arm with a sheathed paw as he sat down beside her. He just laughed at her good naturally.

The sound seemed unfamiliar even to his ears. How long had it been since he had laughed like that, from his heart? Certainly not all of this year, where the terror of the Dark Lord looming over him overshadowed anything that might have made him smile. He couldn't remember laughing out of good humor last year, when he was too busy trying to kill Professor Dumbledore and, once he had finally figured it out, keeping himself and his family alive. He suddenly felt extremely grateful to the girl, who had come into their custody at the beginning of the summer. His thoughts suddenly drifted to the first day he saw her, when Dolohov brought her, unconscious, to their manor.

_He was sitting on his bed, in his room, just staring at the Dark Mark on his left arm when he heard shouts outside his window. His heart slammed against his chest as he glanced out the window. He hated feeling like this, like a frightened prey animal. He was tired of being abused by the other Death Eaters, of being treated as less, of hearing of accounts of murders without remorse. He was growing weary of constantly feeling afraid, of having the taste of fear in his mouth even when he was in the comfort of his own home._

_But it wasn't his home anymore. It was _his_ home now, too, the Dark Lord's, the base, the headquarters for the meetings of the Death Eaters._

_From where he sat on his bed, he could see a group of five men rushing through the gate, disappearing from his view as they reached the front door. Recognizing his father as one of the five, Draco rushed from his room, and quietly made his way down two flights of stairs. The voices were significantly louder as the men entered the manor, and their shouts became coherent._

"_You should not have brought her, Dolohov!" his father's voice, furious._

"_You are no longer in charge, Lucius. Besides, she was of some use to us. She will not last long, if that is what you are worried about. Her heart beats faintly. I'd give her three days, at most. The Dark Lord wanted information, and I gave him the means to extract it." Dolohov's voice, confident and loud._

"_Gave him the means to extract it?! Of all the pathetic excuses for witches and wizards that were in that village, you chose to bring the Dark Lord the most insulting little whore? Filthy, disrespecting girl, I should cut her throat for what she did!" His Aunt Bellatrix sounded furious and insulted._

"_What are you bringing into my house? This is still my house, and therefore I will decide what filth we will keep-"_

"_The Dark Lord requests that she be kept safe, Narcissa. You have no say in the matter." Rowle interjected. _

_There was a low hum of voices, as four men and two women argued among themselves, the words too muddled for Draco to make out anything._

"_Where is Draco?" Bellatrix asked suddenly._

"_Why?" His mother questioned instantly, suspicious._

"_Have him drop her in the cellar. She will be out of the way there. Besides, she is as clean as a Mudblood. Dolohov, Rowle and Carrow, you may leave. Draco will dispose of the girl. And then you can send him to me. He is progressing extremely well in Occulmency." Draco heard footsteps walk into the living room, the sigh of his aunt getting comfortable in a chair. He backed up the stairs, out of sight. There was silence before his mother came into the hallway._

"_Draco?" She called softly. He swallowed and licked his lips before answering._

"_Yes?"_

"_Do me a favor, please." Draco swung down to the stairs. "We need you to take someone to the cellar. She is unconscious; it shouldn't be very difficult." Draco followed his mother into the entrance room. He noticed, with a heavy heart, that while she appeared to be composed and calm, she was actually quite uncomfortable and afraid for him._

_Lucius Malfoy was, as Draco had recognized from his bedroom, a part of the party returning to the manor. Beside him were Thorfinn Rowle and Alecto Carrow, who were looking somewhat disgruntled. The pair was heading out the door, and barely acknowledged Draco as he stepped into the room. It was Antonin Dolohov, however, who caught Draco's attention. In his arms he carried a girl. She was young, about Draco's age, definitely young enough to still be in school. Her chest rose and fell heavily, and, like Dolohov, Draco did not believe she had long to live. Her long brown hair fell down from her head, matted with sweat and dirt, and her clothes were torn and raggedy. Dolohov approached Draco and, without a word, dropped the girl onto the ground by his feet. Knowing it was much easier to simply levitate her down into the cellar, Draco slipped his wand out of his pocket._

"_Levicorpus." He whispered. The girl steadily rose from the floor, head lolling, arms and legs limp. He steered his wand back out the entrance room and down the hall until he came upon a set of white marble stairs. He took care not to let her bang into the walls or ceiling as he marched down the steep steps. Keeping her suspended in the air, Draco opened the cellar door, and guided her in from the doorway. He laid her down at the far corner, where, without support, she collapsed in an immobile heap. She didn't look very comfortable and, after a moment's hesitation, he slipped into the cellar to rearrange her._

_He laid her flat on her back, with a balled up spare blanket underneath her head. The blonde boy noticed deep slashes on her arms and legs, some still oozing blood. Most however, had closed, blood crusted around the edges. She had a bruise forming on her right shoulder, a round purple-blue mark about the size of a snitch. _

_He didn't want to touch her, didn't want to get near her, but he couldn't seem to drag himself away. He felt himself overcome with pity and sorrow. He had seen what the Death Eaters could do; he couldn't bear to think that one of them may have brought her in, not just for questioning, but for sexual enjoyment._

_The blonde wizard tapped her arm with his wand, whispering a small healing charm. Her arm glowed a dim, silver light. As the glow faded, the cuts began to disappear with it. He repeated the charm on her other arm. The silver glow came and went, taking trails of cuts and wounds with it, leaving only dirt and crusts of blood. Draco then tipped his wand to her face, confident in his spellwork. That's when her eyes flashed open._

_Draco tumbled backwards, landing on his rump, unable to keep back a gasp of surprise. The girl struggled into a seated position, her face contorted with pain._

"_Who are you?" She rasped. "What do you want?" Her voice was weak, low._

"_My name is Draco. I…I was just healing your cuts." He motioned to her arms. She glanced down at them briefly. As a look of surprise crossed her face, Draco inched forward, ready to heal the bruised shoulder and bleeding cheek. But the girl drew back, and snarled. Her lips parted as she bared her teeth at him. Draco, alarmed, drew back._

"_Touch me, and I'll make you beg for death!" There was no denying that her throat was parched. But her words held venom and, even though he surely doubted _she_ could kill _him_, he did not advance, wary of this stranger._

"_I'm not going to hurt you. Your cheek is bleeding and…well I was just going to fix it." He did not know how to make her trust him. What could he say?_

_She eyed him warily, through narrowed eyes. She tried to shift her weight forward, to rise, put she was barely on her knees when she collapsed back to the ground, legs buckling out from beneath her. She gasped in pain, clutching her right ankle._

"_Here," Draco whispered, advancing on her again. "It's probably sprained, I could probably-"_

"_Don't touch me!" She breathed, with such malice he did not dare move any closer. She was blinking rapidly now, as if forcing her eyes open. Her breathing was irregular, ragged gasps that shook her entire body. Draco didn't know how much time she had; she had to rest, to allow her body to recoup from whatever torture the Death Eaters had done._

_Moving quickly, Draco tapped her ankle three times, whispering the enchantment. She screeched as a blinding green light shone from her ankle; through it, Draco watched her watch him with murderous eyes. But she blinked and the murderous look was replaced with a look of amazement, as she wiggled her ankle; it was completely healed. She looked up at him, big brown eyes suspicious._

"_I still don't trust you." She informed him. Draco shrugged._

"_You need to rest." He told her, as her eyes fluttered close again. She seemed to be sinking down, her elbows no longer able to keep up the weight of her body. "What is you name?" She sneered at him._

"_Like I would tell you! _They_ asked the same thing. 'Who are you, where do you come from, who do you serve?'" She snorted. Slightly annoyed, Draco shrugged and got up. She was a handful, this one, and he wasn't entirely sure if he liked that. He had one hand on the door when he heard a raspy whisper._

"_Kate. My name is Kate." Looking over his shoulder, Draco saw the girl lying on the floor, head on her arms, staring at him with half closed eyes. Then her body released all tension, her eyes closed, and she fell into a deep sleep._

The sound of the compartment door being thrown open snapped him out of his thoughts. Pansy and Daphne waltzed in, laughing together, sweets in their hands.

"Oh, Draco, you're awake!" Pansy exclaimed. "Want a Pumpkin Pasty?" She plopped down beside him, offering two pastries wrapped in orange wrapper. He took one, ripping open the wrapper and taking a bite of the pumpkin filled pastry. Kate skipped onto his lap, placing a paw on his stomach, stretching to sniff suspiciously at the sweet. Mouth full, he grinned down at her.

"You want some? You want some?" He sang, moving the pasty up and down, around her head. Her cat eyes narrowed into slits, her bushy brown tail twitched. She opened her mouth and meowed at him, and Draco smirked, knowing she was calling him a prat. She had the most goaded look on her face, even for a cat, and she crouched on his lap, watching his hand with the pumpkin pasty go round and round her head.

"Aw, Draco, don't be mean. Give Phoenix some. Look, I'll give her some of mine. Phoenix, Phoenix," Pansy seemed to be eager to make friends with Draco's cat, who continued to ignore her. Draco altered his attention to the black-haired witch.

"Pansy, it's all right, believe me, she's got- OW!" Draco's hand stung, and he released the pasty, which went flying across the compartment. Kate darted away, and crouched beside it. He hadn't believed Kate would attack him, but there was the proof. Four red marks ran from his wrist to his knuckles, sure evidence that Kate had deliberately missed the food and aimed for his hand. The middle scratch was bleeding slightly. Pansy was whimpering and Daphne was cringing away from cat.

And Kate, who had attacked Draco for the food, had taken a small bite, spat it out, and then hopped onto the window ledge, giving the pastry on the opposite seat the most disgusted look.

"And now you aren't even going to eat it!" He shouted at her, exasperated. He sighed heavily, snatching the pastry back, bringing it to his face for a thorough inspection. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with it; he contemplated whether eating it would be safe. He decided that it would be alright, and took another bite.

"That cat is evil. You should have it put down, Draco. It almost killed you!" Pansy sniffed, staring at Kate in open dislike.

"Nah, I just forgot she's got a lot of fight to her." He took another bite and quickly changed the topic to Quidditch, classes, and N.E.W.T.'s.

Night was beginning to fall when they passed by Hogsmeade. Already changed into their school robes, Daphne had pulled out her Charms book, and was hurriedly finishing the last few inches for Professor Flitwick's essay. Pansy wanted to know about Draco's holiday. She mentioned Potter, and possible places he may be hiding.

"I heard the Dark Lord is angry with your parents. My father said he punished them cruelly. What did they do, Draco? I sure hope you were okay?" Her voice was sincere, but Draco could see the curiosity burning in her eyes.

"People always blow things up out of proportion." He answered coolly. "Oh, look, the castle. We are almost there." Pansy pouted, disappointed at not hearing more, but she instantly turned to smile at Daphne. The train whistled to a stop.

"Well, we should be going, then." The girls dragged down their trunks. Kate jumped onto Draco's shoulders as he reached up to grab his own trunk.

"We'll see you in the common room, Draco." Daphne called over his shoulder. The blonde boy gave a short nod, and the two disappeared out the door. Draco let out a sigh, and dragged his trunk out the door. He darted through a thin crowd of students. First-years and second-years let him by; third-years no longer cared what year you were, they weren't going to move out of the way for you.

The flow to get off the train was quicker than on the first day of a new year, so Draco clambered down fairly quickly. He dragged his trunk with him as he climbed into one of the carriages. Unlike previous years, they no longer appeared to be self-drawn carriages. Potter had not been lying about the Thestrals, and having witnessing several deaths after becoming a Death Eater, Draco now saw them too. He wished he couldn't.

He placed the trunk at the bottom of the carriage before climbing in himself. He rocked back as the Thestral started forward. It wasn't long until a huge castle loomed ahead of them, a large lake stretching peacefully around it, home of the Giant Squid.

"Well, Kate. Here we are: Hogwarts."

* * *

**okay i know this is a long chapter, but i was really excited about writing it, and im really happy on how it turned out. please please pleeease review. i need to know how this is turning out.**


	4. Chapter 4

**ok so here is chapter 4. im reallly trying to continue this one. **

**i'm really trying to catch how the students and the teachers are behaving towards draco, whose parents are known to be huge supporters of you-know-who, and the slytherins as well. the school is divided into, quite literally, slytherin and everyone else, although the its not always because of the slytherins. **

* * *

"Mr. Zabini, if it is too difficult for you to focus _only_ on hair-color changing spells, you may go back to transfiguring animals into water goblets. The second-years this year are doing exceptionally well. Perhaps you would like to join them?" Professor McGonagall's stern voice bounced through the classroom, as Blaise Zabini had whispered a hex to attempt turning Millicent Bulstrode, his partner, into a bullfrog. Obviously, his whisperings had not been quiet enough. He flushed angrily and cursed under his breath as Professor McGonagall humiliated him in front of the ten seventh-year students they had class with.

This was the second year of a two year N.E.W.T course for transfiguration. Because to qualify into this higher level class you must have passed the O.W.L.'s with high marks, the class size had diminished significantly, and therefore it was a mix of different houses. There were four Slytherins (Blaise, Draco, Daphne, and Millicent), three Hufflepuffs (Macmillan, Moon, and Fawcett), and three Ravenclaws (Patil, Boot, and Brocklehurst). There were three Gryffindors absent from the class as well as the school, as the Dark Lord's rising to power had forced them to flee.

"I think a bullfrog would be an improvement, Blaise. Good thinking." Draco whispered to his friend. The tall, lanky boy did not turn or acknowledge Draco's comment, but the corners of his mouth tilted upward.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Draco looked up to the transfiguration professor with an innocent expression as she barked out his name. "Why don't you demonstrate? Let's see, why don't you change Mr. Macmillan's hair a bright blue? Remember, upward flick," she flicked her wand up towards the ceiling, "and then _in your mind_, say '_cabellcanvi_'. Well then, off you go." Professor McGonagall held his gaze for a moment before turning her attention to Ernie Macmillan. "Wand down, please, Mr. Macmillan." The Hufflepuff snorted.

"Yeah, right, and end up like the thousands of Muggles he's murdered? I may be Pureblood, but now you're either on their side or you end up like the Muggles and Muggle-borns. I'm not going defenseless against a _Death Eater_." His words were like a physical blow to Draco; no one had outright called in a Death Eater, not here at school. No one had accused him of murder. Is that what everyone thought of him? No better than the Carrows and the Dark Lord himself?

The room had gotten extremely quiet.

"Mr. Macmillan, that is quite enough. Mr. Malfoy isn't going to murder you, we are at school. Now-"

"How do you know? Hey, Malfoy, how many lives have you taken, huh? Bet Mommy and Daddy are so proud of you, now that you just like them. Is that what you all do now, sit and lick the Dark Lord's shit-"

"Shut the fuck up, Macmillan!" Draco yelled furiously. "Lay off my parents. You know nothing, okay, so just shut the fuck up!"

"That's enough!" McGonagall yelled, nostrils flared, wand drawn menacingly. "That will be fifty points from Hufflepuff, and fifty from Slytherin." Draco was seething. What did he care about petty house points and competitions? Macmillan had insulted him and his family in front of everyone. The worst part was, he was right.

"Now, let us try this again. Macmillan, _lower your wand_!" The older witch glared at the seventh-year Hufflepuff until he finally dropped his wand arm to his side. His muscles, however, remained tense, his eyes daggers and never straying from Draco's face.

"Mr. Malfoy, I believe I asked for the color blue." She told him coldly. Draco took several deep breaths, trying to calm the wave of anger. It was like a huge irritated snake, dying to lash out. Draco pushed the angry snake inside him away, concentrating on getting the spell done. He couldn't do mental spells well unless he was concentrating. "_You have to mean it,"_ Aunt Bellatrix had told him, "_You have to feel it, use whatever emotions you can use."_

Draco focused on Macmillan's head, and saw in his mind's eye the Hufflepuff's dirty blonde hair turning a bright shade of blue. Then he flicked his mother's wand (for Potter had taken his) upward, just as McGonagall had done. _Cabellcanvi! _He stated clearly and forcefully in his head. Macmillan's hair instantly became a bright blue.

Draco blinked and leaned back, surprised and slightly proud himself. Draco looked expectantly at the strict professor, not able to suppress his pleasure enough to keep his face from shimmering with excitement. Even Ernie Macmillan, who was just about as good as Granger had been, had not yet mastered the art of mentally casting spells; especially not at the speed at which Draco had just performed. Professor McGonagall, forehead wrinkled, brows furrowed in a small frown, seemed to have realized this as well.

"Change…change it to orange." She commanded quietly.

Draco swallowed and tried not to let the emerging feeling of resentment nag him. Once again, he imagined Macmillan's now-bright-blue hair turning a dull orange. Once again, Draco flicked his wand, and firmly said the spell in his mind. Once again, Macmillan's hair changed color at once. The look of skepticism on Ernie Macmillan's face should have lifted Draco's spirits considerably. It should have- but it didn't.

Professor McGonagall was silent for a moment.

"Well done, Mr. Malfoy. Twenty points to Slytherin." With that she continued to the next pair of students, Sabrina Fawcett and Lilias Moon, both from Hufflepuff. Macmillan had returned to glaring at the blonde Slytherin in open mistrust, but Draco was no longer paying him any mind. He was feeling dejected.

Professor McGonagall had always been the strictest and fairest teacher from the entire staff. Unlike Snape, she did not favor her house over the other three houses of the school. She was also extremely stingy when it came to rewarding points and praise. So, it shouldn't have bothered him that she had looked at him guardedly, asked him do it again. She would have done the same thing to any other student…right?

* * *

Kate pressed her lips together, eyes livid.

"And did you jinx him afterward?" She asked tightly.

"No. It's not that big of a deal. No one really likes us Slytherins anymore, they think we're all traitors. Not that they liked us that much to begin with, but at least everyone got along." Draco shrugged, trying to pass off Macmillan's earlier comments as no big deal. Kate saw right through him, however.

It was way after hours, and both teens were sitting on the floor of the girl's bathroom on the second floor. No one ever used this bathroom, due to the ghost that dwelled in it, Moaning Myrtle, who had been a Ravenclaw student over fifty years ago. She was extremely sensitive, but had been quite friendly to Draco last year; whenever he broke down, she would comfort him. Now, however, she spent most of her time out of sight, frightened by the Death Eaters that now inhabited the castle.

Draco was getting real good at sneaking around the castle without getting caught. He rarely needed Crabbe and Goyle to act as lookouts anymore either, as he was discovering that, without them, it was a lot less baggage. He was swifter, quieter, and didn't have to worry about one of them crashing into a suit of armor or something.

Draco sat with his legs stretched out in front of him, leaning back on his hands, with only a pair of dark pants on. Kate sat beside him on his left, her legs in front of her as well, crossed at the ankles. She had found a loose pair of shorts and camisole. She was more relaxed, now that she was out of the manor, and joked around more often than she had in the months he had been looking after her. They were laying in the moonlight that poured from the high, circular window. Moonbathing, as Kate had whispered laughing.

"Draco, I know how you get when people mention your parents." She told him bluntly. "What's bothering you about this, exactly? It's happened before." Draco turned his head away from her, his thoughts drifting back to Transfiguration. What was bothering him? How about the way everyone kept treating him like a monster?

"I just…it isn't my fault! I can't help it that my parents are Death Eaters, okay? They made that decision long before I was born, and I just got dragged into it all. I hate everything about this!" He indicated to his Dark Mark, which was exposed without a shirt to cover. "I hate him! But I can't say that, can't fight back, because he'll kill me, he'll kill my parents too. And my parents can't go against him, because then he'll kill me. Either way, he's going to kill me, I know it." Draco's voice trembled as he voiced his fears. Kate sat up, crossing her legs in front of her.

"But they don't see that. They don't get that. All they know is that my parents are on the wrong side. It doesn't matter what they are going through, what he's making us do, they just assume that we agree with him. That _I_ agree with him." Draco blinked, trying to hold back angry tears from coming. "Everyone thinks it's so easy, just to walk away. I can't control what my parents do. I know they've done a lot of wrong things, and they don't always feel remorse, but I didn't do it! A son doesn't choose his father." Draco flicked his current wand angrily, sparks shooting out and rocketing across the bathroom. They hit the walls without a sound, but the force at which they rebounded from the walls revealed his anger. Kate watched the angry red sparks zoom around before looking back at the blonde wizard.

"That's not the only thing that has you upset." It was a statement, not a question. Draco glanced away from Kate's brown eyes. He didn't answer her right away.

"It's…it's the teachers…it's like I'm a disease or something. They don't trust me, don't want to touch or look at me. Slughorn ignores me; I know he knows I'm a Death Eater. The Carrows are evil, and they hate all of us. They like the Unforgivable Curses, and they make us do it, and they know I hate doing it. Flitwick has told his entire house not to hang out with us. McGonagall is really tough, but she's fair, and I thought that maybe I could go to her or something. But she hates me. I know it. She always questions me, always suspicious, I see it in her eyes. And Snape," Draco laughed bitterly, harshly. "Well, Snape's on his side, isn't he? He killed Dumbledore." Draco broke off, staring at the wall. The two were quiet for a long while before Draco spoke again.

"They don't understand." He whispered. "None of them. They judge and they point fingers, but they don't get it. They don't realize that we have families we want to protect, too." He looked at the girl sitting beside him, who had not moved from his side. "It isn't my fault." He seemed to be convincing himself of this more than the girl. He met her eyes, trying to figure out what she thought of all this. She just stared back, not adverting her gaze. A heat seemed to suddenly be building inside him, and he looked away quickly.

"I know." She said finally, simply. Draco saw movement from the corner of his eye, and then felt her fingertips on his left arm, tracing the Dark Mark. Just like during the Easter holiday, tingles broke out all over him when she touched him. He tried to shake them off, but they refused to go. _Why_ was he getting like this? He thought irritably. He didn't know what she was doing to him, what was wrong with him. A little voice told him to shrug her off, to be wary of this strange witch.

"Why do you do that?" He asked her instead. To his surprise, Kate blushed slightly and shrugged. He smirked at her.

"Aw, come on. I tell you everything." She looked at him; upon seeing his smirk, she withdrew her hand and scowled. For some reason, he regretted bringing it up. He enjoyed her touch, the feel of her breath on his bare shoulder, liked having her close to him. He didn't want her to stop, to shift away, to pull back and give him room. Inside, he was screaming for her to come back. Then the little voice spoke up, the rational part of him. It approved the distance. She wasn't like him, she was a Mudblood witch, he _shouldn't_ want her attention. He was better than she was, he was pureblood, and she was just some strange type of witch. She was just someone to pass the time.

But then why did he crave her so much?

"I don't know; I just do okay?" She snapped, careful to keep her voice low. But the stain in her cheeks and the way she turned away from him told him otherwise. Draco sighed and let it go.

"I was able to get that hair color thing, though. Good, too, instant results, not slowly. And I can block attacks." He told her smugly.

"Without saying anything?"

"Yep."

"Alright, but can you do it without a _wand_." Draco scowled at her, knowing that she was trying to best him.

"The only one who can do anything without a wand here is you. Normal wizards and witches need wands. Only goblins and house elves and creature like that do magic without the knowledge of wandlore."

"Yes, but in case you haven't noticed, that type of magic is what gets them out of situations made by wand magic." She shifted so that she was on her knees, sitting on her feet. Her eyes were bright, excited. "I can teach you. Of course, you would have to be willing to lower your standards to the petty magics of _my_ kind." She raised an eyebrow slightly, silently daring him to retort. Draco did not say anything for a long moment, waiting for her to begin to fidget from impatience. Then he nodded.

"Yay!" She smiled widely, obvious glee brightening her face. Draco smiled at her, happy in her happiness. "Ok, so you already know how to block your mind, and you can sense other people coming in; you did that by yourself, which is really good. But now you need to expand your mind, not keep it in. Don't block me ok?" She blinked, eyes focused on his. Uncertain on what he was supposed to do, Draco began to do the exercises his aunt had taught him during his Occlumency lessons; he began to block his mind.

And then he felt it; a slight tapping. It wasn't the demanding push that the Dark Lord used, or the scraping of nails that he felt when his aunt was trying to enter his mind. It was just slight pushes, and retreat, push and retreat.

"Follow me," He heard a voice say. It was a girl's voice, familiar, but distant, not as if coming from someone sitting right beside him. The tapping came again, and then retreated. Draco stopped trying to build the wall around his mind. He put it down slowly, uncomfortable with how vulnerable he felt all of a sudden. He hadn't realized how much he had build, how much of a mental barrier he had built in less than two years, until now. The sensation was odd, and he was wary of it. He felt like a black rabbit amid hills of snow, with no clue where the owls were. He felt exposed to the world, to whatever hidden dangers lay in store.

Then he felt another, a strong presence. His mind flew into a panic. He didn't know who was invading his space, his mind, all he knew was that his guard was down and someone else was there. He began to pull up his shield clumsily, and his heart pounded. All his thoughts and feelings were out to the world, he had to get out, to get back to safety.

With a gasp, Draco closed his mind, eyes flashed open and he was back in the girls' bathroom floor. Sweat shined on his forehead, as he sat gasping for breath, conscious of Kate watching him silently.

"I wasn't going to hurt you, you know." Her voice was soft, and she seemed almost hurt. Draco's hand trembled as he brought it up to his face, pushing his hair back from his clammy forehead. It was an odd sensation, one that he had been conditioned to fear. He knew the dangers of having your mind, your soul, open for the world to see.

Kate shifted closer, placing a cool hand on his temple, rubbing it in tiny circles.

"Trust me. Nothing is going to happen. I promise. I'm just going to bring you out mentally. It'll help you really have control over your spells and charms and hexes. Try it again; only this time, don't freak when you feel me, ok? I always knock before entering someone's mind." She smiled harmlessly. Draco swallowed hard, and then closed his eyes again, wanting to trust her. Carefully, he began to loosen his mind, only this time he reined it in, so that some of the mental barrier was still up. He was good at this; even Snape, master of Occlumency, could not penetrate his mind.

"_Ah… Aunt Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency I see. What thoughts are you trying to conceal from your master, Draco?" _Snape had asked him quietly, as even he could not reach the secrets within Draco's mind.

"_I'm not trying to conceal anything from _him_, I just don't want _you _butting in!" _He remembered answering angrily, irritated with Snape's constant pestering. Couldn't someone have some faith in him? He remembered thinking resentfully how no one believed he would succeed, that he would die in his attempt; how they all hoped greedily that they could take the task once Draco was removed from the equation.

He had not fully grasped the seriousness of his situation last year. The Dark Lord had given him a mission, something he was supposed to do alone. He had thought- as an arrogant, sixteen year old would- that this would win him glory, respect; surely it meant something to be a part of the group his parents had commited to when they were younger, surely it meant something that he was the youngest Death Eater personally chosen by the Dark Lord.

But it had been intentionally given to him with his death as the closure. Only, Dumbledore did not seem afraid, did not seem angry, as he stood defenseless up on that Watchtower. He had offered Draco protection and forgiveness, safety for him and his mother, and his father, who had yet to be released from Azkaban.

"…_but I'm here…and you're in my power…I'm the one with the wand…you're at my mercy…" _he had thought aloud. Now, they seemed stupid, childish words; Dumbledore was offering to help, and Draco was still thinking of the satisfaction of proving to everyone that he could do it, that he could accomplish what the Dark Lord could not. But then Dumbledore had spoken to him, quietly and kindly, but it put things into perspective for Draco as screams and anger never did.

"_No, Draco," _he had said_. "It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now."_

It was a simple statement, one that could have easily been scoffed at. Yet it changed Draco's life; it made him open his eyes to what he was doing, what the situation as a whole, not just his problems. In that moment, he realized what it meant to be a Death Eater, to be strong, to be able to kill someone. In that instant, he had grown up.

And then there was Snape. Nothing could ever make him forget the old man's pleading look as Professor Snape looked down with disgust. Snape was not on Dumbledore's side, however, and with a flick of his wand, he had accomplished what Draco could not. In the end, he had kept the Unbreakable Vow he had made to his mother, had taken the task upon himself. The old Headmaster had fallen down, down, out the window at the top of the Watch Tower. Even as Snape gripped his arm and dragged him down the spiraling stairs, he could not forget how his late headmaster had fallen backwards, blue eyes piercing his soul with truth. The image had been glued to his eyelids, even as he stumbled out the castle, until he was able to shut it firmly behind the wall in his mind.

Like a textbook slammed close, he retreated from his memories, shying away from the pain and hurt that seemed to have been growing ever since the Dark Lord came to power. His mind snapped close, and Draco was once again forced into reality. When he opened his eyes, Kate was gazing at him intently, a strange look on her pale face: not quite anger, not quite pity. His heart thudded painfully as he wondered whether she has seen everything he had just relived. Had she been just a bystander, watching the turn of events as they had replayed in his head? Or had she felt what he had felt that night: gripping fear, reluctance, hesitance, deteriorating determination, regret, shame, loss, bewilderment…

"You told me," Kate started. "That you were told to kill Dumbledore. You said he made you do it, that he would kill your parents." Draco said nothing, just watched her from the corner of his eye. "But you never told me about him dying, about the Tower." There was too much knowledge in her eyes, too many questions and assumptions. Draco looked away, embarrassed, hating himself, not the first time.

"Draco, what happened that night Dumbledore was murdered? How did the Death Eaters get into the school?" Draco stood up at the last word, without warning. He walked to the sink, leaning against the rim with his hands, letting his head hang down. When he look back up, he saw through the mirror that Kate was standing up, though she had come no nearer.

"It's late." He said stiffly. "We should be heading back."

"Draco." Her voice was low, quiet, but commanding. He did not turn to face her, but stopped in his trudging to the bathroom door. "Draco, I know something is bothering you, something that happened last year. But I can't help you unless you let me in. Don't shut me out Draco. Let me help you!" Draco ground his jaws together.

"There is nothing for you to help me with, because there is nothing to tell. That was the past; that's it, it is over, done with. I should never have agreed to do this." He began to head back to the door, but he had barely taken two steps when there was a low _hsshh!_ and a large barn owl came swooping in from the window. Frowning, Draco followed it with his eyes as the large bird settled on Kate's outstretched arm. Her lips were tugged down in a frown; her eyes troubled and burning. She grimaced as the owl's talons scraped against her exposed skin.

The two exchanged messages. The barn owl clicked its beak, ruffled its feathers and clicked its beak again. It made a raspy sound from deep in its throat, and clicked its beak once more. Kate answered with a series of deep hisses and clicks of her tongue. The owl ruffled its feathers once more before opening its wings and flying off, leaving Kate's arm with six red slashes. She faced Draco with a worried expression, brows furrowed.

"What is it?" He demanded.

"The Carrows." She replied. "They are patrolling, and are heading this way." Draco blew out through his nose exasperatedly.

"How far away?" Kate bit her lip.

"They are about two corners away from this bathroom." She informed him.

"Shit!" Draco bounded to the door. He pulled it open carefully, poking out his head to check that the corridor was clear. A light brown blur darted past his legs, and he realized that Kate had already transformed into a cat. He swore under his breath, as he slipped out of the girls' bathroom and crept down the corridor. At the end of the corridor, he saw Kate's brown tail bob out of sight.

Throwing glances over his shoulder, Draco crept down the corridor, carefully to keep his feet light, ears straining to hear even the slightest of noises. He passed suits of armor and sleeping portraits. If he was caught, it would be another night of detention for him. He shuddered, thinking of the drastic change in detentions now that the Carrows were teaching, and Professor Snape was Headmaster.

He rounded the corner, licking his lips as he peeked around it, checking for patrolling teachers. He did not see or hear anyone, but continued down the dark wide hallway with caution. He knew, from seven years of living at the castle, that this hallway led to the grand staircase. He could hear the soft thudding sounds they made as they shifted around. He clutched his mother's wand in his hand, as he scanned around for any signs of Kate. He did not know where she was, only that she had come this way. He was almost to the staircases now.

There was suddenly a loud bang from the opposite end of the staircases. Heart racing now, Draco looked around for the source, before racing back down the corridor, away from the staircases. He heard the furious yelling of a woman.

"Blasted cat! Come here, you stupid animal! I'll teach you to creep up on me!" Draco ducked behind a large suit of armor. He held his breath as Alecto's voice came closer and closer. A small brown figure rushed past, and Draco's heart dropped as he recognized Kate. What the hell was she doing?

Alecto was cursing loudly, casting hexes at Kate. Red jets flew out from the Death Eater's wand, but never quite hit the nimble cat; one however, missed her by only a couple of inches. Kate rounded the corner, and Alecto followed, too focused on the rogue cat to notice the blonde student who was out of bed after hours. The bangs and shouts got lower, as Kate led the Death Eater into the West Wing.

Understanding now that Kate was distracting the patrolling teacher, Draco rushed out from behind the suit of armor. He didn't know why his heart was thumping with worry; Kate was tough, she would be able to squirm her way out of any situation the Carrows backed her into. She would be okay, he reasoned to himself, as he raced down the staircase before it could change with him on it. She would meet him in the Slytherin dormitories with a haughty smile and yet another example of why the Carrows were so stupid. It wasn't as if this was the first time she had done something like this. And yet the worry for the brunette girl lingered, nagged at him, all the way down to the ground floor.

The ground floor held the Entrance Hall, the Great Hall, and the Transfiguration Corridor. Creeping down the large corridor, he made a right onto a narrower hallway, which emptied into the Central Courtyard. The spring night was slightly chilly, and Draco wrapped his arms around him as he made his way across the dark courtyard, careful to keep low. The benches stood cold and silent, the bushes and trees swaying in the slight breeze. Everything seemed calm as Draco reached the other end of the courtyard. He was crossing the overhead that extended into the back courtyard when he heard voices arguing. Ducking into the shadows, he crouched beside the walls of the walkway, which reached up to about his hip.

"You being set off by a cat has nothing to do with the students, Alecto! The students are allowed to bring in cats, owls, and toads and those creatures are allowed to roam the castle grounds at their leisure. Perhaps you should check whether the object you are chasing is over a foot high!" It was Professor Sprout's voice, sounding extremely aggravated.

"If there is a cat wandering about like that, there's bound to be a child out of bed! Don't argue with me, Pomona! Just check the dormitories, and make sure every one of these brats are in bed, where they should be!" Alecto's voice was shrill and furious. The two teachers continued out the courtyard, back from where Draco had entered. When he could no longer hear Sprout's angry huffs and Alecto's pants, he scurried across the back courtyard. He hurried across the black bridge that was strung over the part of the lake that had cut its way into the land. Once over the bridge, he crept back into the castle, thankful for the warm air that hit his face as he stepped inside. He was in the East Wing now. He made his way to the end of the wing, down twisting corridors, past pictures of animals and enchanted scenes. He was almost to the back stairs when he heard light footsteps at the end of the halls. Draco pressed against the wall, feeling around for a door. Fingers catching on a knob, he quickly but quietly turned it, relieved to find it unlocked. Draco slipped into the darkness of the room, casting a quick eye around to make sure no unwanted ghosts or teachers were occupying it. Not seeing anyone, Draco kept the door ajar just enough to peek out with one eye.

A boy crept past; like Draco, he was casting paranoid glances behind his shoulders, shoulders tense with alert senses. Draco recognized him as a fourth year Hufflepuff, Owen Cauldwell. Even in the dark corridor, Draco could make out the numerous scrapes and gashes that criss-crossed on the boy's face and arms, evidence of recent detention. The blonde Slytherin waited quietly until the Hufflepuff boy was well away. Then he tiptoed out from the room, and continued down the hallway. At the end, he was met by two staircases. These were immobile, as they led down to the first level of dungeons of the two underground dungeon levels. The Slytherin common room rested on the bottom level, extended out beneath the lake on the east side of the castle. Draco, confident that no teachers would be patrolling the dungeons, flew down the stairs, rushing across a short corridor before making his way down another set of stairs. Draco walked down the stone corridor, a feeling of security settling over him as he stopped in front of the wall.

"Serpienta" He whispered, and the hidden stone door slid open. Draco walked into the deserted Slytherin common room, the door sliding close behind him. Draco sighed contently, heading up to the boys' dormitories. He pushed open the black, wooden door, where five beds were spread out evenly against the walls. Draco crawled into the only vacant bed in the room, and waited with crossed legs for Kate to make her way up.

Goyle was snoring two beds away, Zabini completely hidden underneath the covers. A single lamp floated above the five beds, illuminating the room a dim greenish glow. Back in the comfort of the familiar room, Draco's eyelids felt heavy as he forced them to remain open, and his muscles relaxed. He contemplated just going to sleep and seeing Kate in the morning; but then he remembered that while she had seemed to have outwitted Alecto didn't mean she had come out clean.

He needn't to have worried however, for at that moment a faint buzzing sounded in his ear. Automatically, he moved to swat it, but then a warm weight dropped onto his lap. Looking down, Draco recognized Kate, taking the form of a brown ferret, by the indignant expression on her face. Draco stifled a laugh, yawning instead.

"Good job, Kate." He told her sleepily, eyes closing on their own accord. "Now, go to sleep. We have to wake up tomorrow." Draco wormed his way underneath his comforter. Kate scurried over to his head before transforming into a rust-colored fox. Then she curled up by the head of his bed, bushy tail over her eyes. Draco smiled as her breathing slowly evened out into a rhythmical beat. Smiling, Draco yawned once more before drifting off to sleep himself.

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**so what do you think? please review!! come on, just press the little button! im happy with "good" or "bad". it takes 2 sec.**


	5. Chapter 5

**this wasn't originally where i was going to end the fifth chapter, but i think that the other part of what i would put would make it too long, and moves away from the focus that this part has: the intruduction of the Carrows! yay!**

**i know this one took me a bit longer, but im finally happy with it. and now that school is out i should be finding more time to let ideas flow.**

**thank you _madeofawesomeness _and _cheerbabe1010_ for letting me know im on the right track and that i must be doing something right.**

**thank you _Kaycee M_ and _dandylion05_ for giving me critism and improving my writing skills.**

**and thank you sis, who reads my stories and keeps me motivated to see this one to the end. :)**

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Draco Malfoy trudged to the Great Hall the following morning with heavy eyelids. He raised a hand to cover a yawn, his eyes squinting against the morning light. Kate rode on his shoulder, a light brown cat, tail draped down his back. Her ears were pricked forward, as they usually were when entering a room bursting with activity. He had woken up late, and so the Great Hall was already packed with students. He wouldn't have time to grab his bag after breakfast, so he had brought it down with him.

Draco made his way over to the Slytherin table at the end of the hall. As he passed by, a third year Ravenclaw whispered something to her friend, eyes betraying her as they cast a glance at Draco. The pale boy grinded his teeth and pretended not to notice. Kate, sensing his irritating, rubbed her head against his neck, purring softly in reassurance.

Draco slid in beside Theodore Nott, Goyle and Crabbe in front of him, already stuffing their faces. Two people down to his right, he could hear Daphne and Pansy chatting eagerly with Belinda and Belladonna Pruitte, fifth year twins. He grabbed a piece of toast, nibbling on it before taking a couple of strips of bacon. Kate leaped gracefully from her perch on his shoulder to the long table. She looked up at him, big brown eyes haughty, meowing her demands. Draco rolled his eyes at her before pushing an extra plate before her, bacon strips lined up in the center. He couldn't quite keep the smile off his face as Kate crouched down and began to eat.

"You know, you make a pretty good pet. Too bad you're still bitchy, no matter what." He joked, voice low enough so that only she heard. Kate paused in mid-chew to glower at him. Then she flicked her tail and returned her attention to her breakfast.

Beside him, Theodore Nott was eyeing the cat in disgust.

"Really, Draco, _must_ your cat eat on the table?"

Draco frowned at the boy, who was in his year, and opened his mouth to retort something nasty when the boy stopped in mid-bite, staring at Kate. Puzzled, Draco glanced at the cat, and realized that she had stopped eating once more and had fixed Theodore in an unblinking and unwavering gaze.

"Er…actually, I suppose it's alright. I mean he- _she_," he corrected himself, "is pretty clean and…well…I need to finish some homework for today anyways….I need…" But Theodore did not finish. He picked up his plateful of food and parted from the Slytherin table. Draco watched, baffled, as the dark-haired boy departed from the Great Hall before turning to the brown cat.

"What was that all about?" He muttered. But Kate merely swished her tail, not even glancing up at him. He narrowed his eyes at her, and made a mental note to get it out of the girl later on in the evening.

"So, what's our first class today?" he asked Crabbe and Goyle, taking another bite from his toast; the bread crunched loudly in his mouth.

"Dark Arts," Goyle answered with a snigger. He and Crabbe exchanged look. "We're going to be starting some really advanced magic today."

"Bet you're excited aren't you, Malfoy?" Crabbe sneered. "Oh wait, but you get cold feet just by doing the Cruciatus Curse. I don't think you're going to be able to stomach this one. Why don't you sit this one out?"

Crabbe's jibe was a hard hit to Draco's pride. If he had been a cat, like Kate, his fur would have been bristling.

"I can do the Cruciatus Curse just fine, Crabbe. I just don't like being told what to do by the Carrows is all. After all, I _am_ their equal." Crabbe's face contorted furiously, as Draco reminded them that he was a part of the Dark Lord's inner circle. "And I'm sure the spell we are learning is one I have already seen, maybe even performed." Goyle watched silently, as Crabbed and Draco stared coldly at each other.

"Yeah, well…we'll see in class, won't we, Draco?" Crabbe answered, sneering again. But he was noticeably less confident.

"Yeah, we will." Draco grabbed his toast, snapping his fingers at Kate. He was glad she didn't fuss; she leaped onto his shoulder even as he rose, tossing a hostile glare at Crabbe over her shoulder.

Ever since the Christmas holidays, Crabbe had been getting more and more mouthy. In him, Draco recognized all the traits that the most devoted Death Eaters shared. Goyle lacked the intelligence to go off on his own, but Crabbe was showing his true colors more clearly every day, slowly rising against Draco, who for six years had gotten quite used to the idea that they followed him around and did as they were told.

Draco kicked the wall angrily as he left the Great Hall and turned the corner. He crossed the Entrance Hall without really looking where he was going; he walked through a ghost, Nearly Headless Nick ("My boy, do watch where you're going!"), but he barely felt the odd chill. He only felt Kate, as she shook herself on his shoulder, whiskers twitching against his neck. He didn't know where his feet were taking him, but he was glad that they passed no students or teachers.

Everything had changed this year. He hated it. His friends from his house were no longer his friends. He couldn't trust anyone, couldn't tell them his worries or pains. He was damn sick of it all: the lies, the hurt, the hiding behind the mask. He wanted _him_ gone, so that life could return back to how it was. Draco thought of Potter and Weasley and Granger, all on the run now; running away from something he was a part of. It wasn't supposed to _be_ like this! The Dark Lord wasn't supposed to have returned, turned the world upside down. Draco's thoughts drifted to the countless of Muggles he had witnessed being murdered: men, women and children. He could hear their screams, see the terror in their eyes as bands of Death Eaters came and destroyed towns at a time.

He had always been proud to be a pureblood. Proud to be a Slytherin, to be part of something old and pure. He had been proud to be a Malfoy.

Now he wasn't so sure.

The sunlight dazed his vision for a while as he walked across the short walkway that connected the western and eastern sides of the castle. He was sharply interrupted out of his thoughts as he felt talons scraping against his shoulder. Startled, he glanced up in time to see a brown falcon spiral upward towards the North Tower.

Draco watched her go, grateful that she knew him enough not to pry, not to try and give him false consent and worthless advice. He blinked against the sunlight, watching her. He had one friend, he acknowledged to himself; one friend, who did know almost everything about him. He thought back to the first month of Kate's arrival, how after four weeks of open dislike and mistrust, she had finally accepted him.

_Draco grasped her by the arm, firmly, so that she wouldn't stumble as they made their way back down to the cellar where they were keeping her. Dolohov had once again gotten his way; she was only supposed to last three days before one of the Death Eaters were supposed to kill her. But Dolohov had taken a liking to torturing the girl, who put up a fight every time. Narcissa Malfoy had tsked her tongue and muttered that she was a stubborn girl; Bellatrix had laughed and retorted that she was a stupid whore who didn't know what was best for her. Draco thought she was both stubborn and stupid._

_She was a shape shifter. Draco had only witnessed one of her torture sessions, unable to stomach the amount of pain that Dolohov enjoyed putting her through. It was always the same: the snarls and hissing at the start, adrenaline rushing hard enough to suppress the pain. But once Bellatrix joined in, and it was at least two to one, he would hear her whimpers, screams and gasps. She never once cried though, not even when the Dark Lord himself performed the Cruciatus Curse on her. If she had cried, she had cried afterward, and not in front of Draco. But she always seemed to have enough strength in her to snap and lash out at Draco verbally. She was tough, and Draco couldn't help but admire her for that._

_He laid her gently against the wall, her breaths coming out in ragged pants. This time, she had had to endure it for much longer than usual. He wasn't sure how much longer she was going to be able to hold up. He brought out his wand from inside his robes, tapping her arms and muttering the healing charm without speaking to her. But when he turned to her legs, she flinched away._

"_What's wrong?" He asked her, slightly worried. _

"_Nothing, just…that man, he likes to see people suffer. I believe he was punished by the guy with the red eyes and snake face?" Draco nodded; surprised that she would know this. "I thought so. He hurts me more when he has been angered and humiliated." Draco sighed, frustrated with how things were going._

"_Here," he muttered gruffly, casting various charms and spells to help with the pain. It took several minutes for him to be satisfied that she would be alright ("Drink the water, you need to be hydrated. And humor me- eat the food.")_

_He had sat beside her, gazing off into the nowhere._

"_I'm one of them, Kate. And the longer this continues, the more similarities I see between me and them. The things they make me do." He shuddered. "Am I any better than them?" He didn't know why he was voicing these fears to her. Maybe in the silence he had felt safe; or maybe his mind so desperately needed to hear it aloud, to get rid of it that they just tumbled out._

"_Draco?" He turned his head just a fraction in her direction. "You're a good person, Draco. Don't forget that. You aren't like them out there. You're very brave, too. And I appreciate it." He snorted._

"_Yea, right. That can't be true. You're just saying that to butter me up." He glanced up at her darkly. Did she think he was dense? But her face was honest and sincere._

"_Why would I lie?" _

"_Look everyone lies! They just want to get out of here, run away!" He motioned the cellar with his arms, hearing the bitterness in his own voice. "It doesn't matter if they got to screw any of us over, they just want to escape." He looked at her face, but was silenced by the angry look in her eyes. "Okay, okay…you're not like that, then. But most people are!" He told her defensively._

_It was a moment before she spoke. And when she did, it was soft._

"_Would you like to hear my story, Draco? I'm sure you have heard hundreds, being right in the middle of the action. But do you want one more tale of those who have been murdered in this war of the Dark Lord? Do you want to hear how we got word of this war- your war? Do you want to be told how my village was burned?" Her voice rose at the last word, venom in her voice, spitting angry fire. "Do you want to hear how my family was blasted away by the very ones you follow? How I saw the black smoke rising from the forest? How I ran from the forest, and saw them in flames?! Do you want to know how my parents were bodies whose faces were gone?!" Draco took a step back as she sat up, face contorted in fury. "You aren't the only one who has suffered here, Draco. I, too, have had my fill of pain! But I am _not_ looking back! Ever! Nor will I just sit there and close my eyes as they hurt me! I'm no coward! And I will not leave you here after everything you have done for me. I won't be in your debt." She ended her ranting by spitting at his feet like a man. **(*)**_

"_Alright," he said slowly, softly. "Alright. I'm sorry." She had glared at him for several seconds before turning her head pointedly away from him. Sighing, he had gotten to his feet and made his way to the cellar door._

"_Well, I'll see you later Kate." He had slipped out the door, leaving Kate bristling angrily, her words repeating over and over again in his head._

Draco was startled into being by the buzz of students' chatter. Looking up, he realized that packs of students were crossing the courtyard to reach their classes, which would begin soon. Sighing inwardly, Draco slung his bag over to his left shoulder, and made his way to the Dark Arts rooms. He crossed the grounds to reach the East Wing before climbing a pair of immobile stairs. Draco climbed the spiraling stairs, and was surprised by the joy that warmed his chest as he recognized the brown cat sitting on her haunches at the top of the stairs.

"Kate you aren't allowed in class with me." He told her with a smile. Kate cocked her head, directing her gaze to something behind him. Looking back over his shoulder, Draco realized that students were coming up. It was Gryffindors Seamus Finnigan and Lavender Brown, followed by Ravenclaws Mandy Brocklehurst, Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil. Their conversation ended abruptly as they recognized him standing there, pale skin standing out in the black stone background. They passed by him, Ravenclaws suspicious, Gryffindors loathing. Draco sneered back, refusing to be intimidated by fellow classmates. When they had turned into the classroom, he turned back to Kate, who was looking up at him.

She got up suddenly, and rubbed against his leg. She darted away before he could pet her, meowing over her shoulder. Draco took it to mean 'good luck'. He watched as her tail disappeared down the spiraling stairs, and then entered the spacious room that once taught Defense Against the Dark Arts; now they were being taught the Dark Arts.

Draco sat on the Slytherin side. The room was cold, and the Carrows were not present yet. Blaise was fiddling with his wand, leaning against the back of his chair, looking bored. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting together, heads bent, eager looks sketched on their chubby faces.

Draco suddenly became aware of the intense whispers coming from the other side of the room. He strained to hear what they were saying.

"They've run him out- got tired of his tongue." A Hufflepuff boy, Morag MacDougal, informed the group.

"I hope he's okay." Sabrina Fawcett, a Hufflepuff, piped up concerned.

"Served him right, really. I mean, what did he think he's going to accomplish?"

"He may not have gotten rid of the Carrows, Goldstein, but he's kept us all fighting. Half the school is gone, and if we don't want it to be handed over to _him_ then we have to keep resisting."

"Do you think he's on the run now - like Potter?"

"I heard he was still in the castle. There's no way he got out, not with all the Death Eaters and Dementors patrolling this place!"

Draco frowned slightly. Who were they talking about?

"Well, I hope he's ok, if they catch him-"

"Hannah, he'll be fine. Longbottom's suffered the worst under the Carrows, but that never stopped him from fighting back, and he'll keep on fighting back."

"Shh! The Carrows!"

The door to the chamber slammed open, and Amycus Carrow walked in.

"Sit down and pay attention, you lot!" He barked as he strode to the front of the room. He whirled around to face the class, black cloak billowing menacingly around him. Amycus Carrow peered around the classroom, impatiently waiting for the buzzing of whispers and grumbles died down.

"Today you will learn to cast Fiendfyre. Fiendfyre is extremely advanced magic that you all should be grateful we are teaching you. Quills out- now! Copy what is on the board," he flicked his wand to the blackboard, where the white chalk began to write on its own, "and then you may take out your wands."

Draco rummaged through his bad for a quill and his ink bottle. Finding both, he turned his attention back to the front of the room, copying down the information for Fiendfyre that the chalk was writing. It was, quite literary, the fire of rage, cursed fire, difficult to cast and nearly impossible to control. Fiendfyre was extremely advanced magic; unlike regular fire, it was alive and cruel, angry. Fiendfyre, Draco scribbled, spread rapidly, growing from simply a piece of parchment ablaze, to engulfing an entire house in less that twenty seconds. Draco paused, glancing around the room nervously. They were going to perform this _here_, in a classroom that contained flammable objects and students? Fiendfyre, Draco continued, eyes darting nervously to Amycus Carrow (who was pacing the length of the room impatiently) produced heat seven times the amount of regular fire. It was so powerful that things burned to ashes immediately at a single touch; even human flesh.

"'It burns at a single touch'? What are we doing performing these in a classroom then?" voiced Lavender Brown, who was staring at Amycus in disbelief. Amycus Carrow sneered at the Gryffindor girl. Draco glanced up from his scribbling, anxious for the answer to the very question he had been wondering.

"It's time you babies learn some real magic. The Ministry wants you all intelligent and able to cast some real spells. No more stupid, beginner jinxes for you! You're seventh years; it's time you perform like the wizards and witches you can be."

Draco licked his lips nervously, and exchanged a nervous look with Blaise, who appeared to be as eager to cast Fiendfyre as everyone else in the room. What they would have been doing would not have been "beginner magic", it would have been magic appropriate for N.E.W.T. level, not loads of extremely advanced, dark magic. The only ones who were looked hungrily at Carrow were Crabbe and Goyle, who, Draco thought incredulously, probably did not understand the seriousness of what they were going to be doing.

"You're mad! I've heard of Fiendfyre from my uncle, it's impossible to keep under control, we'll all burn alive if we cast it!" Morag MacDougal called out from the back. Amycus looked furious now.

"Fifty points from Hufflepuff, and if you keep being mouthy, I'll dump you in detention!" He glared at MacDougal until the Hufflepuff boy finally looked away.

"Fucking crazy. Dumbledore'd never've allowed-" But what Dumbledore would never have allowed, the class never found out. MacDougal's muttering was not quite low enough, and Amycus, face contorted in fury, took four strides to the boy and grabbed his arm, wand raised. MacDougal screamed the instant Amycus's fingers latched around his lower arm, as if burned. Amycus Carrow dragged the boy by the arm out of his chair, with him screaming out from pain, streams of profanities intelligible in the now quiet classroom. He as wriggling and tugging in vain. Amycus Carrow thrust MacDougal onto the floor in the front of the room. He lay, panting, on the ground, clutching his arm. The two Gryffindors were glaring at Carrow with unmasked rage. MacDougal's fellow Hufflepuffs were on their feet, gasping or yelling in fuming disbelief. Amycus turned away from the injured boy and hissed angrily at the Hufflepuffs.

"Sit down and shut up all of you, or I'll put you all in a week's worth of detention!" The Hufflepuffs lowered themselves into their seats slowly, eyes never straying from the Death Eater and their friend. Draco waited, heart rushing, hoping that Amycus would not perform the Cruciatus Curse; he didn't know how many shouts of terror and pain he could take.

"As for you," Amycus turned his attention back to MacDougal, Flicking his wand lazily at the boy, who yelped and curled his limbs into his chest, face screwing together in pain. "Don't let me catch you contradicting me again, or I'll have your little sister be tortured instead of you. And you'll be the one to do it, mark me word." Amycus sneered down at the dark-haired boy, who was now gazing up at the Death Eater with eyes mixed with fear and hate. Amycus shoved MacDougal with his feet, a clear dismal, and waited impatiently for the seventh-year to get up and return to his chair, still clutching the arm that had been grabbed.

"Now, listen up you lot, and listen up well, 'cause I ain't gonna be saying it a million times. The incantation for Fiendfyre is _maledetto fuoco_, and you'll wave your wands like this," the Death Eater swished his wand horizontally before him, then brought it in to his chest and, with a flick of his wrist, jabbed his wand out.

"Now, not many of you incompetent whelps will be able to accomplish this. It isn't for the weak hearted," he threw Draco a nasty look, who grinded his jaws together to keep any foul language from escaping. The Death Eater then pointed his wand to the cupboard. The cabinet doors flung open and twelve glass jars flew out, landing on the tables in front of the students, one for each.

"You will be casting the Fiendyre into the jars, which have been enchanted by….well, it keeps the cursed fire in the jar." He finished quickly. He suddenly pointed his wand to the jar sitting before Draco. "_Maledetto fuoco_!"

Draco yelped and leaned back into his chair as a red-orange light streamed out of Amycus's wand, emitting heat far greater than normal fire of its amount would. It filled the jar, slurring around from within the jar like a liquid. Settling, the flames began to take form, licking at the edges and lid of the jar. Draco became aware of Amycus jeering triumphantly at him as he sat, transfixed, staring at the flames which were now taking the forms of serpents, dragons and rocs, snapping at their confines.

Satisfied with the reaction it brought, Amycus Carrow finally put out the cursed fire with a flick of his wand and a mutter of "_malefinite_". Draco looked up, freezing his face in a blank mask as he met Amycus's eyes, hoping that his eyes did not betray the unease hiding within him. Carrow held the blonde boy's gaze for several seconds before acknowledging the class as a whole.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Let's see if you brats can perform some real magic!" And with a whirl of black, he turned his back to the class to observe from the front of the classroom. Relieved that Amycus had said no more, Draco focused on his now-empty jar. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged identical hungry looks, and gripped their wands tighter as they tried their hand at this new, advanced curse. Draco ignored them, lacking the eagerness the two shared for casting Fiendfyre.

The Hufflepuffs at the other end of the room had huddled together, murmuring quietly, their angry titters reaching Draco's ears. He watched from the corner of his eye as they glanced up occasionally to glare daggers at the Death Eater in the front of the room and their Slytherin classmates. MacDougal was rubbing his arm, whispering furiously to his friends.

The seventh years spent the remainder of their Dark Arts class trying to produce the Fiendfyre. By the end, only Vincent Crabbe had successfully been able to conjure the fire into his jar. Lavender Brown's wand had emitted a small stream of red-orange light, but the heat from her wand had startled her and, with a yelp, she had lost concentration and the fire. Draco had been able to emit several sparks and a miniscule fire, but it had been so feeble an attempt that it had burned out upon touching the bottom of the jar.

The most excitement, however, had been caused by Seamus Finnigan. Finnigan had missed the jar completely, lighting instead the tabletop. Amycus had not been lying when he had written that Fiendfyre grows extraordinarily fast; the spark that struck the table had grown into flames that consumed the entire table in less than five seconds. After a rush of panic and some quick wand work from Amycus, the Fiendfyre was put out, the tables renewed, Gryffindor fifty points less than at the start of class, and Finnigan slapped with four Thursdays of detention. After that incident, most of the class was too fearful to make any more attempts to conjure the fire. Crabbe, however, had continued with a smug, haughty look on his chubby face.

Draco sighed with relief when Amycus Carrow dismissed them. Draco stuffed his quill, ink bottle and parchment into his bag before heading off to Potions with Goyle. Crabbe, thankfully, would be heading off to Charms. Draco trudged down several flights of stairs as he made his way down to the first level of dungeons, where Professor Slughorn would be waiting for his seventh year, N.E.W.T.'s level class to continue brewing the Polyjuice Potion they had started two weeks ago. Draco groaned inwardly as he remembered that he had Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall _again_ this week before lunch, and Alecto Carrow for Muggle Studies after their study period.

It was going to be a long day.

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**(*): this scene was taken after hearing the Miss Saigon CD's and finally listening to the story. i really like this and i think that Cris and Kim's beginning are sort of like Kate and Draco's....sort of. lol. anyways, it's taken from the song "This Money's Yours"**

**so what did you think? pleeease review, because its the only way i can get better. any constructive critism works! come on, just click that button...go on now.**


	6. Chapter 6

**yay!! i finally finished thos chapter. took me a while, but it got done. :) anyways, you guys know the whole ordeal. no i dont own harry potter, J.K. Rowling does, and because of that she is the most amazing woman - ever. Kate is mine tho, so at least i have dibbs to something. oh! and the cabellcanvi spell. :) i lvoe google lang. tools lol**

**any ways, hope you guys like this. i ran this through spell check, but sometimes it misses some stuff. also, i wasn't sure how to refer to legilimency and occlumency in verb and noun form, so i just sort of went with it. if any one knows how its supposed to be referered to, please let me know. thanks**

**anyways, enough here. enjoy!**

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It was the middle of April, which meant that many days would follow this stormy Tuesday, all identical to the previous day. Draco flexed his leg muscles, stretching them as they lay propped up on a spare chair, yawning hugely. He flicked a page of _Advanced Curses, Spells, and Hexes, Volume II_, skimming through the chapter of Necromancy. They had finished learning about Fiendfyre in Dark Arts, and were assigned to write a twenty inch essay on necromancy and significant necromancers. He knew it was due by the end of the week, but the pale boy could not seem to focus on his paper as he lounged in the library, listening to the rain rapping on the glass window; it sounded like the scattering of pearls after having broken free from a woman's necklace. He tried reading the book, to take in the information, but after finishing a thirty inch essay for Alecto Carrow on African witch persecutions of the twentieth century, his eyes just seemed to glaze over the faded text.

Something stirred in his lap, and he glanced down at a brown terrier, who was blinking sleepily and gazing at the water-streaked window. Safe from observant eyes from students and staff alike, Kate had shifted her form once again, to keep from becoming too cat-like and reducing the dormancy of her human qualities. The animal magic she had, she had explained, was not like the Animagi magic that Draco had first believed her to be. An Animagus would never loose his or her mind as a human; the workings of Animagi was such that the Animagus could keep the human mind and rationale and take the form of an animal. In Kate's case, however, her mind transformed into the animal just as much as her appearance did. Because she had lived most of her life as, and identified herself with, human, she kept many human qualities even as her shape shifted. Her eyes, she had explained, were the biggest indicator of how far she was to loosing her mind to something not human. No matter what form she took, be it cat, owl or python, her eyes maintained a shadow of the shape and coloring they were when she was human. The moment her eyes began to change shape and become more animal like, the harder it was for her to resume her human way of life.

However, as long as she continued to shift, and not settle on a given form for too long, her mind would not change from its current human rationale and way of thinking. She had explained this to Draco a couple of days ago, when McGonagall had requested a well-written, and quite lengthy, essay on Animagi.

Draco placed a hand on her back, flattening down the brown hairs that were rumpled from her nap on his lap. She tilted her terrier head up, to meet his grey eyes. He did not smile at her, but blinked and looked away as he broke out in the usual tingles. Irritated at himself, he flicked his wand sharply at the parchment that held his finished essay, and was now lying discarded at the edge of the table. Instantly, it rose up to the air, and rolled itself neatly into a manageable scroll. Draco guided it into his bag, where it settled snuggly between two of his spell books. Then he let out a long, heavy sigh, and attempted to start his essay on Necromancy. Dipping his quill into his ink bottle, he decided to begin with the basics- a general definition of the study.

"Necromancy," he wrote, "is the art of raising the dead and compelling them to assist in enchantments or the casting of spells." He dotted his period, completing his first sentence. He didn't know whether writing down the general statement was what woke up his brain, but Draco suddenly found that he was able to concentrate. He stared at the words he had just paraphrased from the book. 'Raising the dead'? Was Amycus _insane_? Draco grabbed the textbook and pulled it to him, skimming through it, this time reading for comprehension. Trembling slightly, he dipped his quill in the ink once more before continuing with his essay, mumbling as he wrote.

"A perilous craft, Necromancy takes many years to accomplish and perfect. The wrath of the dead for being disturbed or the answering of a demon to the summons can, as it has so often in history, result in instant or torturous death for the necromancer." Draco's blood turned cold, and he felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. He was sure no one but the Dark Lord himself had perfected Necromancy. He didn't want to call on the dead; the dead were long gone, and meant to stay hidden in their graves or wherever it is that they went. He was certainly not looking forward to accidentally pissing some dead guy off, and end up joining them, and he didn't want to have to deal with demons. Draco flipped to the end of the chapter, where there was a list of successful necromancers. His heart sank; the list took up less than a page, as there were only seven necromancers in all of history who lived long enough to be deemed notable.

Did Amycus Carrow really expect to do a class on Necromancy? Were they going to be summoning the dead? Or was he just having the seventh year research the topic and become knowledgeable about the topic?

Draco shivered as he remembered how Antonin Dolohov had described to him the army of Inferi under the Dark Lord's control. The pale Death Eater had leered at him from across the lounge, simply delighted at Draco's pale, terrified expression. It was always a much difficult feat for Draco to control his emotions at home, where Death Eaters sat in rooms that he had once been in control over.

But he couldn't think about that now. He had to continue with his essay. And so the blonde Slytherin dipped his quill in the ink bottle once more and firmly told himself that he wasn't going to get up to stretch his legs until the entire essay was complete.

*** *** ***

_"You ever seen an Inferius, boy?" Dolohov had leered, leaning in close as Draco sat, shaking, in the grand armchair by the fire. He could hear Yaxley crying out in pain as he endured another round of punishment from the Dark Lord for losing Potter. Draco had blinked at the long Death Eater lazing in front of him, fearful, trying to block out the sounds escaping from the torture session occurring just one floor below. Dolohov had laughed softly at Draco's pale blank expression, apparently at ease with the yells and screams that carried on below._

_"But I bet you know what they are. Come on, boy, your mother keeps you in that rotting castle to get an education!" Draco had opened his mouth, trying to find his voice, trying to block out the screams long enough to work his brain around what Dolohov was saying. Beneath his fear, irritation bubbled, as he acknowledged how Dolohov was referring to him: _boy_. It was driving him mad. He wasn't a boy, damn it! He had seen things, heard things, endured things that had pushed him out of the sheltered cocoon that was childhood. He had left childhood a long time ago, when he had been forced to plot Albus Dumbledore's death, when he had tasted fear beyond his worst nightmares._

_But he could not let Dolohov see his anger; that would only land him in more trouble than he needed. What was the Death Eater asking him? Inferi? They had learned about that the year before, when Snape had become professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts. They were like the living dead, weren't they? Corpses, enchanted to walk around and do the caster's bidding - it was one method used by the Dark Lord. They had had to do an essay on them…and Potter was called upon, as always, and had said that the difference between Inferi and ghosts was that ghosts were transparent… but Inferi were solid…_

_Dolohov had sighed impatiently._

_"What's the point of keeping you in that school if you aren't even learning anything? Even with Snape in charge of things now, you lot are no better off than when that fool Dumbledore was Headmaster. Completely useless." The pale man had snorted. "But I'll bet your mother's just scared you'll be asked to do some real magic. Is that it? Is mommy afraid her little boy is going to have to work for the Dark Lord? Is she keeping you at school because she wants to protect you from everything?" Draco had mashed his teeth together, anger mingling with fear, refusing to give in to the older man's taunts. But he was close to the edge now, close to exploding. Dolohov seemed to realize this as well._

_"Or maybe," Dolohov said softly, slowly. "Maybe you are there because you want to be. Too scared, Draco? Too frightened to come play with the big boys?"_

_"It's you who should be afraid, Dolohov, when my family gets our favor back. And as for the Inferi," he had finally lost his will to stay silent. He spoke louder to intervene whatever the pale Death Eater was planning to retort, voice not quite so high and shaky now that he had found it. "They are corpses, brought to life. But they have no free will, they can't think for themselves, so they follow orders from the wizard who reanimated them in them in the first place." Draco had let out a small smirk, just a tad satisfied as he caught a flicker of surprise ripple across the Death Eater's face._

_"Well, well, well, I see we _have_ been learning something. Well, then, since you are so educated on the ways of the Inferi, you know what they look like, yes?"_

_Draco had remained quiet; even in his fright, his conscious would not give this man the satisfaction of knowing that all Draco had seen of an Inferi was the picture of terror that his imagination could come up with. But he knew, more so now than ever, than reality was a whole lot more terrifying than his imagination._

_"Hm, perhaps not. Well than, let me show you an Inferius of one Muggle who got in the way of Lord Voldemort." And before Draco could prepare himself, Dolohov had flicked his wand at the floor beside Draco's feet. With a shriek, a human hand plunged out of the tile. With a startled jump, Draco had pulled up his feet, telling himself that this was just an Illusion Charm – a very good Illusion Charm._

_The hand was bony, flesh draping over the joints in a sickly blue color. Slowly, the hand pulled up from the floor a ragged human head, another shoulder with an empty arm socket. The skull had revolved around the neck, two empty eyes sockets facing straight at Draco._

_He had lost it. With a yelp, he jumped out of his seat, running across the room. Pulling out his wand, he had yelled '_Finite!'_ the Inferius, to his immense relief, had disappeared immediately. Dolohov was chortling loudly._

_Breathing deeply, Draco had waited for his wits to return to him before opening his mouth to lash out at the man. But at that moment the door to the lounge had swung open, and a cold voice had spoken._

_"Dolohov, call upon Rowle. I want the two of you on constant alert for Harry Potter. You will find him, and bring him to me. Perhaps you will be more successful than Yaxley. Be warned – Lord Voldemort is a merciful Lord, but I will not stand for my followers' constant failure much longer." Dolohov had bowed to the Dark Lord, mumbling reassurances, leering at Draco before Disapparating. Then the Dark Lord had turned to Draco, and though he had tried to look away, the cold red eyes had locked with the terrified grey ones. "As for you, young Draco, go tend to the fool, Yaxley. You will find him in the drawing room. Pray that you will never displease Lord Voldemort as he has." Draco bowed, mumbling 'Yes, my Lord' as he backed out of the room. _

_He remembered feeling sick after looking into those eyes, stomach churning uncomfortably. But it wasn't the sight of the Dark Lord that had him fleeing to the nearest bathroom to vomit his guts out. It was the sight of the stern-faced, dark-haired man gasping for breath on the floor of his drawing room, face a dark blue and swollen, blood dripping from a wound in his left arm, right leg sprawled out at an odd angle. And the thought that this was the side of the war he was on – this was what he was forced to fight for, so that he and his family could continue to live._

*** *** ***

They were sitting in the common room, Draco having had refused point-blank to return to the girls' lavatory on the second floor now that the corridors were being patrolled on a much stricter schedule; he did not want to risk being caught and getting detention.

Kate had lit three candles that she had found scattered on one of her many scouts of the castle. When Draco had questioned her on this, she had answered that the burning of candles helped ease the mind and provide clairvoyance. Draco had rolled his eyes behind her back, thinking that she sounded a lot like Professor Trelawney. Yet here the candles stood, lit, between the pale boy and the orphan girl, both of whom were sitting crossed-legged and facing each other. Draco sat with his eyes closed, waiting patiently. Kate was slowing her breathing, her large eyes on Draco, focusing.

The blonde wizard's wait came to an end as he felt the _tap, tap!_ in his mind. After three such practices, he now knew what to expect, and began to feel out with his mind. He slipped through his mental barrier; Kate had taught him how to release his mind without undoing what he had perfected with Aunt Bella's Occlumency lessons. She had taught him how to feel around with his mind, how to sense the air for feelings and emotions. He had been quite proud when, last time, it had been he who alerted her that danger, in the shape of a wandering seventh year Ravenclaw, was drawing near.

This time, however, he was safe in the Slytherin common room, and he floated just above the two bodies below, the room hazy but familiar.

"_Come on_," came the light command. "_Come on out a little further, then_." Draco frowned slightly. There was something different about the way that voice resounded in his head. It wasn't dangerous; he knew the voice belonged to Kate, knew her voice just as well as he knew his mother's or his father's. But up in Myrtle's bathroom, where he had gone through this three times already, her voice had always been distant, low and barely heard over the beating of his heart. Tonight it sounded louder, clearer, as if the voice were speaking from within his head.

"_I'm going mad_." He thought wryly.

"_Oh, you're not going mad._" Kate's voice drifted into his mind, still crystal clear, but now with a hint of amusement.

Draco frowned. How had she heard that comment? Had he accidentally said it aloud? Perhaps he had, though he was quite sure he would have been at least dimly aware of his lips moving.

"_Wrong again. Come on, Draco, you're down two guesses_." Her voice was taunting. He could just picture her smug little face as he tried to riddle out the question she had the answer to. He could not let this irritating girl best him. But how the hell was she doing that?

He had not said his thoughts aloud, and he didn't need her to tell him for him to know this was so. He had built up enough discipline to prevent any thoughts from accidentally flowing out of his mouth. If all of his thoughts were not securely protected behind the mental wall he had built, he would have been in grave trouble long before now.

Accepting that, he would have to assume that Kate was reading his mind. But the question wasn't how she was able to get his thoughts; it was how she was able to put _her _voice into _his_ head. Her voice, which was now so much clearer… as if coming from _inside_ his head… and that would imply that this conversation they were having was taking place… but it wasn't possible…was it?

"_Until the Death Eaters discovered my kind about ten months ago, I wasn't possible. I don't believe you thought the idea of a human being able to practice and control strong magic without a wand was possible – do you?_" Draco was silent for a moment before reeling in his wandering mind enough to have control over his body.

"Conversations can be held in the _mind_?" But his voice didn't sound as loud as it should have, even at the whisper in which they were speaking. It sounded as if someone were speaking to him from far away.

"_Don't speak with your mouth, but with your mind. Just think it. And yes, conversations can be held within the mind, though it takes a well-disciplined one to do so. It's how I communicate with many of the animals here."_

"I thought – _I thought you spoke their language._" He thought, to her, remembering to talk with his mind. He thought back to his second day back from the Easter holiday, when he had taken Kate, at her insistence, to the Owlery, and she had clicked and chirped and hooted to the varied specie of owls in there.

"_I can. But animals have minds as well, and its much more convenient sometimes to speak mentally. How do you think I exchange messages to the owls in the morning? Even in your wizarding world, I don't think they would take lightly to a cat speaking owl."_

Draco chuckled as he pictured Pansy's face if she saw Kate as a cat speaking owl to her barn owl one morning during the usual post from home. Suddenly, an uneasy thought rolled across him.

"_How could we be having this conversation in my mind if I haven't put my wall down?_"

"_We are not having it in your mind, but right outside of it. If it bothers you, we could move it to my head. It's almost like a mental porch – I can go onto it and converse with you, but I am not entering your house. Likewise, I can talk with you, and you can talk to me, but I am not inside your mind._"

"_Ok…but if you are in my mind…that is to say, you can hear what I am thinking…well, I guess what I want to know is if it is like Legilimency._" He hoped it wasn't, because if this was just a more advanced form of Legilimens, than he was going to have to make sure that the Dark Lord never learned how to do it. At least he could keep his deepest secrets hidden from the Dark Lord's commanding pries by practicing Occlumency. This, however, did not seem to have a counter-attack.

"_What's legilmancy?_" Her tone was honestly puzzled.

"_Legilimency. It's the reading, usage, alterations and even control of someone else's mind. Depending on how good the Legilimens is, or how well the victim is at Occlumency, all of the victim's thoughts and memories are laid out for the Legilmens to see._" He replied.

"_Then no. It is nothing like that. I cannot control your mind even if I wanted to, unless you allow me to control it. I can only hear or see what you choose to let me hear or see. All of your memories, feelings – those will only be open to me if you consciously present them to me._"

Draco took a moment to allow that information to sink in.

"_It's not extremely difficult,_" Kate continued. "_It just requires discipline and focus. In time, you'll be able to focus on both your mind and your body, so you'll be able to have mental conversations even as you go about your daily bus-" _Kate suddenly broke off, and Draco paused, wary.

And then, the hazy common room disappeared, and he found himself in an unfamiliar Slytherin dormitory. He realized that he was in one of the girls' dormitories, as he watched a young girl slowly crawl out of bed. As she turned to wrap a warm, green blanket around her shoulders, he recognized Lokia Higgs, a third year. She was moving towards the door of her dormitory in a sleepy waltz.

Draco crashed back into the Slytherin common room, no longer hazy as his eyes flashed open and his mind flew back behind his sturdy barrier. Kate was blowing out the candles, rolling them underneath the black leather sofas. With a rush, he suddenly understood what had happened: Kate had shown him an image of what was happening, what was ending this little exercise. That third year, Lokia Higgs, was heading down now, and it would not do if she caught him down here with an unfamiliar girl.

Grabbing his mother's wand, Draco dashed up the pair of stairs on the right end of the common room. He didn't look back over his shoulder to see if Kate had transformed; she wasn't think, she would choose something inconspicuous, and follow him up when the way was clear.

He passed several doors, each with a wooden plaque that told what year of boys were sleeping within. Passing three such doors, he took a small set of stairs to reach the dormitory for the seventh year boys. He turned the knob slowly, pushing the black wood door open little by little until it stood ajar wide enough for him to slip through. A quick glance around the room told him that no one had realized his absence, and all was peaceful and calm. Smirking at his success, he closed the door silently behind him, knowing that Kate would open it in her own way once little Lokia Higgs had tired of her midnight stroll.

Draco crossed the room and climbed into his four-poster. He sat there for several minutes, before deciding to do something useful as he waited for the girl to return. Pointing his mother's wand at his bag on the floor he called 'Accio Potions essay', and caught it as it glided across the air, pleased with his skills at non-verbal spells. He then Summoned his ink bottle and quill, along with his Potions textbook. He flipped through several pages of _Advanced Potion Making_, before finding the chapter of poison antidotes. They were to write an essay comparing and contrasting the effectiveness and difficulties of several poison antidotes, as well as that of bezoars.

When he was already half-way through describing the fourth antidote, he began to seriously get worried. He had been periodically glancing up at the dormitory door, half-expecting Kate to open it and come springing onto his lap. But she never did. He tried to swallow down the gnawing feeling that something was wrong, that Kate should have been here a long while ago. His heart began to beat a little harder, his stomach going just a little queasy. But he didn't like the anxiety he was feeling, and liked it even less when the little voice in his head jeered at him for getting so worked up for the Mudblood. She was disposable, who cared what trouble she got herself into. The other voice, the one he didn't want to face, spoke up, reminded him that Kate was his friend, was there for him. He owed her for staying, which was why he must go check on her; make the fact that he was in her debt be the reason he was worrying, continue to ignore the feelings the signs…

No, no, no! Do _not_ think along those lines. Draco shook his head, trying to clear his head of all the conflicting thoughts swirling, still trying to decide whether to stay in his warm bed, or go down to the common room and demand why she had left him waiting.

_Ten more minutes_, he reasoned with himself. _Ten more minutes before I go down to look for her._ The proud serpent grumbled that he shouldn't have to risk his neck for her anyways, while the calm serpent muttered that ten minutes was better than turning his back on her fully. Biting his lip, Draco shut out all the feelings, not wanting to dwell on either one too long, for fear of what he would find out if he faced it.

Those were the longest ten minutes in his life. He continued through his essay on antidotes, but only with half of the interest in which he had before. Now, more of his attention was tuned for the opening of the door, any whisper of voices, any rustling of someone awake. He was really starting to get anxious now, even though he made excuses for all the reason why she was fine and he was worrying over nothing. After all, how difficult was it to avoid being noticed by a thirteen – at most fourteen – year old girl? Yet surely Lokia Higgs had returned to her dormitory already?

He had finally decided to creep to the common room (and search the entire castle if she wasn't there), when the door opened. He had his back to the door, as he was bending down to place his school stuff on the floor by his bag. But he heard the soft creak of the door opening and closing, and the soft thuds of footsteps muffled by socks. Draco was ready to scold Kate in hissing whispers of keeping him up waiting for her as relief replaced anxiety, only to be smoothed out into a calm expression so he wouldn't have to deal with her teasing him that he had been worried for her. He straightened out of his crouch by his bedside.

And then he froze, numb.

For Kate had come in through the door. Oh, yes, Kate had returned to the dormitory of the seventh year Slytherin boys. But not in the way Draco had thought she would. The muffled footsteps were not hers. The hand that had turned the doorknob had not been hers. The eyes that darted across the dark room were not her big brown ones. And it was not in Draco's direction that the figure who had just entered was heading..

He didn't understand the ugly feeling erupting within him. He didn't understand why he felt like this. But there was no calming the angry serpent within him, as it coiled and lashed inside him, demanding to be released, to unleash its fury at the tall, slender, dark-haired boy who was now creeping to his own four-poster that was the first one by the door. And on his shoulder, looking quite comfortable, was a honey-brown cat, with eyes that, even from his distance, Draco could tell were not the slits of cat-eyes.

Kate had returned to the dormitory at last. On the shoulder of Theodore Nott.

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**teehee. im going to have so much fun next chapter. love game! :) anywhoo, please review! to those of you who have, thank you sooo so much. i love you.**


	7. Chapter 7

**ok i finally finished this chapter! i had sooo much fun with it, so i really hope it came out as good on paper as it did in my head lol. im really trying to capture the conflict within draco. im keeping the fact that he _is_****good at hiding his feelings, and putting on a display, and how that sometimes backfires. sorry i took (and looved) ap psyc. :)**

**hmm, what else should you know? i think thats about it for now. thanks for everyone who reads! rememeber i take and appreciate criticism as long as you aren't yelling me about it (writing _isn't _as easy as you would think).**

**i own nothing except for Kate, who is my own character. and the personalities of minor characters. the creation of those characters - and everyone else - belongs to Rowling.**

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He was still moody the following morning. Draco hadn't spoken or looked at Kate as he put on the school robes or trumped down to the Great Hall for breakfast. He hadn't returned her smile when she had met him at break, wrapped in a spare black robe and walking around as her regular, human self. When she had looked puzzled and asked him what was wrong, he had grunted that nothing was amiss, that "everything was just dandy", to his books and had continued writing his Potions essay. They spent the remainder of the period in silence, only to be broken by Kate's attempts to start up an innocent conversation on his studies (which he pointedly ignored). When she had finally gotten fed up at his behavior ("at least girls _acknowledge _that we PMS!"), he had sneered at her. After a particularly nasty comment from Draco, she had stormed out, leaving him with fifteen more minutes of quiet solitude.

This, Draco told himself, suited him just fine. He, after all, was a Malfoy, and pureblood, and didn't need her approval or her support on his actions. And he needn't worry about with whom she was spending her time without him. She could choose her own buddies, and be with whoever she liked. It didn't matter. Nothing could come of them – she was a Mudblood, and a freak, and if Theodore Nott preferred Mudblood freaks instead of a worthy pureblood witch, then who was he to tell him so?

He didn't care. He wasn't bothered in the slightest.

Bothered? Why did that word even come up? Of course he wasn't bothered that the stupid Mudblood girl had been with Theodore Nott! Why, she had seemed quite comfortable on his shoulder, perfectly at ease, not at all as if he were a stranger. She'd probably been meeting him during classes, or on those nights when she decided to tour the castle alone. They must know each other very well now. But that didn't bother him.

He didn't care.

He didn't.

Draco Malfoy jabbed at his paper, the point of his quill cracking under the pressure. But he barely noticed, as the image of Kate coming in with Theodore Nott, who Draco had always respected and seen as an equal, late last night. He couldn't shake off the image of the other boy whispering something to her, of her rubbing against his hand, too much message and meaning behind it to be waved off as just play-acting.

But he _didn't care_.

He_ didn't_!

Then why did he get so damn angry over it? Why was it that the incident last night was all he saw throughout the entire day? The angry snake snarled and hissed, needing to break free, needing to lash out and destroy everything in its path, needing to destroy the enemy. His first lesson of the day, Charms, had been absolute hell. It would have been so easy – so simple and excusable – to hex Theodore Nott into next week. But he hadn't; he had made it through, his face a perfect mask of calm and indifference as he was paired up with Theodore Nott, who had seemed just a little happier today than usual. Or was that just Draco's imagination?

But it didn't matter, because he didn't care.

He _didn't_!

The idea that he might care that Theodore Nott and Kate being more than friends was laughable. Kate was just something to pass the time; a convenience, you might say. She had been an easy friend, and he was so low and desperate he would have taken any filthy Muggle to cry into. The action was regrettable and more than a bit shameful, but he would get over it. It wasn't as if Kate was _his_.

His heart skipped a beat as he thought of her – not the wounded, half-crazed animal he had taken to the cellar, but the laughing and care-free girl he had gotten to know at Hogwarts. What if he did make her his? What if she was _his_ girl, _his_ Kate, more than just something of the present?

_No_! Why was he thinking these things? What had she done to him, to make these thoughts go round and round his head, making him confused and angry and yearning for… something he didn't want to think about. She was pushing him to limits he hadn't known existed until last night. He didn'twant her, didn't care.

Why, then, was his heart aching? Why did his stomach churn and drop when she had come in so friendly with Theodore Nott? Why was he still thinking about her? Why was it so hard for him to concentrate when she was around? And _why_ did his heart skip a beat when ever he thought of her?

Draco slammed his text book closed. Bloody female was driving him insane! If he wasn't careful, he would have to claim a ward at St. Mungo's just for him. He thought of her angry, hurt look as he had snubbed her all day, and sighed. Gathering his books, he drifted out of the secluded corner of the library, making his way to History of Magic which was conveniently just past a set of staircases and down a relatively short corridor.

What the hell was wrong with him? He didn't know if he was angry at Kate for making him feel the way he was currently feeling, or angry at himself for allowing himself to feel that way. He had always hidden his feelings so well, buried them behind layers and layers of practice of portraying who he wanted to portray. Why was this so hard to push down, to tuck away? This wasn't the first time the serpent inside of him had gotten infuriated, but it could always be appeased. But because of Kate, the serpent was now livid, incontrollable, and it not only angered Draco, but made him just a bit nervous.

A nervousness which fed to the anger.

As he stormed out of the library and passed the staircase, a second-year Ravenclaw came dashing up from a lower floor. Her arms were full of books and loose sheets of parchments, and she stopped just short of colliding with the older blonde Slytherin. He didn't know what made him do it, but it suddenly seemed like a good idea to take his anger out on this younger girl. With a hard shove, she fell backwards on her rump, paper and books flying everywhere. She looked up at Draco in shock, but Draco, possessed by the serpent, only sneered down at her.

"Watch it, clumsy." And he continued to walk on.

Halfway down the corridor, however, he regretted it. Closing his eyes, he let out a sigh. Was he really regressing back to the bullying behaviors of a child? He didn't need to pick on twelve year olds, he was greater than that. He took a peek over his shoulder; she was slowly collecting her belongings, which were scattered across the landing. It wasn't her fault that he was having dissonance within himself, that he was no longer able to control his feelings. She was just unlucky enough to have run into him by herself, with no friends to back her up. But he didn't want to have to lose face and apologize to some little girl.

Draco hesitated, indecisive. He was being stupid – she had most of her things already and would surely bolt and possible injure herself if he walked up to her now. But he didn't want to do nothing when he had acted so inadequately. Finally he decided on a small kindness. Seeing a roll of parchment, tied with a purple ribbon, laying unseen behind her, he levitated the scroll onto the belongings already piled on her arms. Satisfied with this act, he slipped inside his classroom, leaving the Ravenclaw blinking at it with surprise.

He dropped his bag to the floor, and collapsed onto his seat, not looking at anyone. He blew out through his nose, angry and confused. He rubbed his eyes with the butt of his hand, trying to make sense of the muddle of feelings erupting within him, wondering when Kate had taken over him so completely that he had lost control.

*** *** ***

Dinner was being served in twenty minutes, but Draco wasn't hungry. Instead of making his way to the Great Hall, like everyone else, he beat against the flow of Hogwarts students. He slipped to the back of the castle, and trudged down a lonely staircase, instead of the crowded Grand Staircase. He would hang out in the common room; if he got hungry later, he would just sneak into the kitchens and ask the house elves for a bite – they were always happy to oblige.

"Ophion," he told the stone wall when he reached the dungeons. The wall slid open, allowing him to slip inside the familiar room, where he collapsed onto one of the black sofas by the fire. Because everyone was upstairs eating, he had the common room to himself. He closed his eyes and listened to how the flames crackled and snapped in their confines of the pit. Lying there in the Slytherin common room, Draco began to relax, and with a smile realized that he used to do this at home.

_Home_. He thought with a jolt. The manor was still his home, but it no longer brought back pleasant memories. His home had become a strange place to him in less than a year. He walked between the rooms like a terrified rabbit. He thought of his house, the manor, with its spacious rooms, large exterior, exotic and often dark objects scattered throughout on shelves. His father loved magical artifacts.

What were his parents doing, now? They had all been put under house arrest after Potter escaped. His father, his mother, and his Aunt Bella – all three capable wizard and witches, all three jailed in a house he had always thought was a safe haven. Worry prickled the back of his mind, as he thought of his mother, locked up with Father and Aunt Bella, both of whom were Death Eaters, suffering the same punishment because she had been dragged into the whole mess by marriage and relation. He opened his eye, sighed, and pulled himself off the couch. He would write to his mother, and make sure that she, Father, and Aunt Bella were okay. Although, Aunt Bella would probably hex him if she knew he was worrying about her, he thought sardonically. She was proud and psychotic.

The letter held nothing of great importance. Anyone who was foolish enough to write something meaningful, (even in invisible ink or ink that would only show an intelligible message to the reader it was meant for) deserved whatever consequences they got. Nowadays, everything and anything was used against you. But writing the letter had given him, Draco, something to do, and put his mind at ease about his negligence to his family.

He was halfway to the stone door when it slid open. He paused – it was too early for dinner to be over. A slender figure tumbled in, head bowed, mahogany curls a curtain around her head. She had something in her hand, like a folded piece of paper. She gave a shuddering breath and then glanced up. He froze when her hazel eyes, laced with tear-soaked eyelashes, found the pale Slytherin boy with the grey eyes. Neither one moved or spoke for a moment.

"What are you doing here?" She sneered, pulling the paper that she held tightly to her stomach. "Dinner is served up in the Great Hall."

Draco folded his arms over his chest.

"I could ask you the same thing." He said. He and Tracey Davis had always been on good terms. She was an okay student, and easy to get along with, but stubborn as a centaur. A look of despair crossed her face, but it instantly calmed into a haughty look.

"I'd be careful if I were you. Your parents are in enough trouble without you getting caught acting as if you're up to something. I heard they're locked up in the goddamn house of yours. I heard you outnumbered Potter five to one and you still couldn't keep a hold of him." Draco's lip curled, angry now at being taunted by her.

"You watch what you say about my-" He began in a threatening voice, stepping towards her. She didn't even flinch, and her wand was flicked out from beneath her robes, pointing at his face, before he could even reach for his.

"Ah, ah, ah! Don't want to get in trouble, do we? You won't be able to slip out of trouble – not when I'm the one turning you in!" She tapped the Head Girl badge gleaming on her chest. Draco stopped, staring at her, breathing hard. She was right; even if he was a Prefect, the teachers would believe Tracey, who had always been the most honest and trustworthy Slytherin in his year, before believing Draco, who had caused trouble in his previous years and was, undeniably, a Death Eater. And if she were smart – which she was – she would go to the Carrows, who would side with her whatever she said, in their eagerness to see all of the Malfoys' downfall.

Draco smoothed his face into a blank expression, puzzled. Tracey had never acted like this to him. She was friends with Pansy, and had been his first crush. If there was ever anyone he trusted, it was her. So what was up with her? His eyes flicked briefly to the paper in her hands. That was the source, he knew it.

"What is in the letter, Tracey?" He asked her calmy.

"Never you mind!" Her eyes were angry, but her voice wavered. He almost smiled, knowing now that whatever the piece of paper in her hand contained would solve the question of her behavior. He shrugged and made to walk by her, keeping his stance and walk calm, collected and uncaring. He felt her eyes on him, even when her head had not turned. He was just a breath past her, when he acted.

Snaking his arm around her waist, he snatched the letter from her clutches. She screamed and sliced her wand through the air; blue sparks zoomed in front of his face, just missing him. He ran around the common room, his mother's wand out, trying to flatten and read the letter and keep her at bay, all at the same time.

_-Dearest Tracey_

_It was a pleasure receiving your owl yesterday. We haven't gotten a lot to be happy for, and reading your letter made life seem so ordinary. I apologize for not being able to tell you this formally, or for Father to be the one to tell you. Father has spent much of his time locked away in the study. Pinka worries about him, says he needs to eat, but is too frightened to go in. I don't blame her; if Father dismisses her, she'll be better dead – you know what is happening to house elves now._

_But I'm beating around the bush. It's difficult for me to tell you. It's Mother – she was taken by the Ministry, and is going to be thrown into Azkaban for helping a Muggle. It was Aunt Lara! You know the length Father went to get Mother passed as a witch. But when the Death Eaters went to Aunt Lara's house, Mother wouldn't just sit and wait for her sister to be murdered. Well, it was all for the worst. Merlin, I wish I wasn't the one to tell you! Aunt Lara is dead, along with Uncle Steve, Jessica and little Albert. And Mother was taken away, because she was helping a Muggle. Oh, Tracey, I hope you aren't angry with me for bringing you this horrible news! What was Mother supposed to have done? Watch as they murdered her sister? The day after tomorrow, I must go in to the Ministry. They are going to try and state I am not a witch, I know it! They are beginning to ask for you as well._

_Take care of yourself, Tracey! Keep your head low, and don't go looking for trouble. Pray for me, please! I am so frightened, and I don't know how well Father can fight for me now that Mother is gone._

_Stay safe._

_- Your loving sister, Kira_

He blinked at the message, dumbfounded for a second, finally understanding what had Tracey all upset. A second was all Tracey needed to send him hurtling across the room. He drop the letter instantly with a yelp, lifted clear off his feet, landing with a thud, and clutching his stomach. But he didn't have the heart to be angry at her or to throw a hex back – he deserved it.

The girl dropped onto one of the sofas, letter clutched to her chest, head hidden in her hand. She uttered no sound, but her back was shaking, the only indication that she was crying. Draco stood, rubbing his wrist, unsure of what to do. He had forgotten about Tracey Davis. He had forgotten why, in their first year, the other Slytherins had taunted her, why she never used the word "Mudblood", why she never picked on other Muggle-borns. It was because she was a half-blood. Her mother was Muggle-born, and therefore all of her maternal relatives were Muggles. It had taken only two weeks, however, for Tracey to prove why the Sorting Hat placed her in Slytherin. Here, in a House that pushed you to prove your worth, she had fought back and showed excellent ability for hexes and curses, dead determination, and unwavering stubbornness.

Draco became uncomfortable, watching the girl. What could he do, or say? It wasn't going to be alright. And the reason she had snapped at him was because he and his family were a part of what killed off her cousins, had dragged her mother away and left her and her older sister's life in danger.

What could you say to someone when you had pushed them into the dirt?

He walked over to her, and awkwardly put a hand on her back.

"I'm sorry," He said quietly. He bit his lip; he didn't think he had ever apologized to anyone ever in his life. He didn't ever feel the need to. What he did, he did with reason, even if no one else saw them, and he would not pretend to regret. But this… this he didn't want, had never wanted, or intended to happen. Tracey stared up at him, cheeks tear-stained. He gave a mangled smile that did not reach his eyes. When she nodded, he left her, slipping out of the Slytherin common room, the letter to his mother held firmly in his right hand.

The Slytherins were finally being attacked. And he didn't like that at all.

He slipped up the stairs three floors, pushing open a small wooden door that led to an open, stone overhang that connected the castle to the Owlery. The night breeze was picking up, and from where he stood he could see the last rays of sun disappearing behind the Dark Forest. He crossed the overhang at a brisk pace, wrapping his black school robe more securely around him. He was surprised when, at the end, the heavy wooden door was pushed closed, instead of open as it normally was.

He reached out a hand, opened the door, and was startled to a halt by the sight before him.

The honey-brown haired girl sitting cross-legged on the ground of the Owlery glanced up, a fearful, guilty look on her face. But it quickly dissolved as she recognized him; her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched. A large school horned owl was perched on her shoulder, a smaller horned owl on her right forearm, and there, on her left knee, was none other than Nuit, Draco's eagle owl. Draco stood at the archway, glaring into the cold brown eyes. His eagle owl hooted hesitantly at the girl, and then flew towards Draco, when neither teen responded. Nuit clicked her beak and nuzzled his shoulder, but he ignored her. She had, after all, been socializing with the enemy. A sharp nip from Nuit on his finger made him rethink that strategy, and he reluctantly stroked her feathers with his left hand.

"What are you doing here?" He sneered. Not nearly as creative as he would have liked, but it was, without a doubt, extremely straight forward.

"Oh, so now you're talking to me? Gotten over your PMS?" She snapped, before lifting herself to her feet. The two horned owls screeched inquiringly, flapping their wings to find a more stable roost. Kate stood there, in the center of the Owlery, hands balled into fists at her side.

"PMSing is unjustified mood swings." He told her calmly.

"Oh, and what you're going through isn't unjustified? Do you finally want to tell me what is it that happened that compelled you to resort to using the 'silent treatment' like some spoiled little seven-year-old?"

He ignored her, walking over to the opening in the stone wall, the perpetually opened window, restraining the urge to yell at her. She wanted to get him upset, to get him to lose his temper. Keeping the anger within him, hiding the truth, and acting all calm and collected would infuriate her more than raging on about her betrayal.

Nuit held out her leg patiently as he tied the letter onto it.

"Take that to Mother, and don't leave until you have seen both her and Father." He told the owl softly. She hooted softly at him, and then fixed Kate with her fiery orange eyes before spreading her wings and taking off into the sky. He could feel the thick silence of the Owlery, but didn't turn around to face her until Nuit had become just a small dot in the sky. He revolved slowly, leaning against the stone wall, sneering into Kate's face, bitterly satisfied that she appeared absolutely livid. She was standing dead center of the round room, the robes she had taken from some sixth year girl was hanging on her frame, full of owl feathers, owl pellets, and bits of bird food. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, stray hairs dangling in front of her face, though her brown eyes burned through them into Draco. She had her arms extended, each one supporting a horned owl.

Suddenly, she jerked her arms. Draco cringed, fearful that she was going to attack her or, worse, set the owls upon him. He made to grab his mother's wand as both owls took off from her arms, but there was no need to worry; they flew out the opening, gliding on the breeze majestically. She hissed and made a rasping sound, which was answered by a raspy screech from a small barn owl. It, too, flapped its wings and soared after the horned owls. Draco watched them soar into the sky, and frowned when one of the horned owls swooped into the Dark Forest. What was she up to? He desperately wanted to know, but kissing up to her just for that piece of information was beneath him, and he refused to be at her mercy.

"Well, let's hear it, then. What's got a stick shoved so far up your ass that you couldn't even pucker up the courage to come talk to me about it?"

"Oh, I'm the one with a stick up _my_ ass? No, I just know who I am, and I know that I don't have to put up with people like _you_!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked dangerously. Draco laughed nastily.

"You little whore! I know why you agreed to come here! What have you been up to when I'm not around, huh? You never let me catch you. Oh, yes, the castle is big, and its interesting, and you are oh so curious. I never gave it a second thought! But you fucked up big one time 'cause you gave me some false information one night. But you didn't have me fooled, not for a minute! I got you figured out, I know what you're up to, you filthy little-"

"Shut up!" She took two steps closer, face contorted with fury. "_I'm_ the whore? Look who's talking! I've heard things, things about you! They talk, you know, the girls? In the bathroom, in the dormitory, when no one else is around. I've got times, I've got places, I've got people!-"

"Yea? Well, let's hear it then, because right now I think you're all talk and no go!" Draco shouted, wand out now, pointing at her. His ears were ringing, and he was faintly aware of the restlessness of the owls, who were all probably feeding off of her emotions, listening to her orders, her plans. If she attacked him, with all the owls in the Owlery, he wouldn't stand a chance. Somewhere deep within him, underneath all the pent up anger, he realized and understood how vulnerable he was, but it didn't bubble up to the surface.

"-You think you're so innocent _here_?" She laughed without humor. "I don't know what the teachers are thinking. There's – what, about 250 of you? – all sleeping and eating and living together, all of you getting together right under their noses, and you're calling me the-"

"Let's hear it then!" He roared. "Come on, have a go at me, because, honestly, I think you're just full of shit!" Draco's arm was shaking. He had _never_ lost control like this – not with Snape last year, not with Potter, hell, not even with Weasley! Macmillan had gotten him pretty angry, but not anything close to this. It scared him, to lose control, to show his emotions, to truly show what he was feeling. Especially now, all his mother and father had done was drill into him the importance of being able to hide, and master his emotions. It was so easy for him – that's why he had been able to excel in Occlumency. So why was this girl getting to him? How was she able to crawl under his skin? The thought that he was somehow unable to keep her out infuriated him even more.

She was yelling at him again, probably telling him all the things she had heard. Well, obviously she had heard lot's of things. No one liked him; he was a Death Eater and better off dead as far as any one was concerned. He had been a fool for thinking that Kate had enjoyed his company, had thought better of him as a person than anyone else. That's why he had let his guard down, had allowed her to see him and touch him. It was all her bloody fault! If it hadn't been for her, he wouldn't be so aggravated all the time! The snake within him lashed and snapped, hissed and spat. It was her fault! She was driving him into this, making him lose control! He had thought she was special, was good for him, had been the antidote to all his problems. But he had been wrong; she was the poison, the weapon that was weakening him, softening him, so that she could come back later and finish him off.

She _had_ to go!

"- and then there's that Pansy Parkinson-"

Draco could have laughed.

"Pansy? She's desperate for anyone! She's fancied me since first year, but it's never been serious. And before you start laying girls on me!" He raised his voice, as Kate opened her mouth to argue. "Why don't you enlighten me about a certain Theodore Nott?" He could have kicked himself. He had wanted that to come out sounding triumphant and accusing, not angry and hurt. He swore silently.

His insides clenched, however, as he felt the atmosphere of the circular stone room shift. Kate had opened her mouth, paused, closed it again and was now looking hesitant. His heart thumped.

"What do you know about Theo?" She asked. It wasn't the loud, angry bellows that they had been previously exchanging. Her voice was quiet, her eyes troubled.

Draco didn't speak right away. The use of his House mate's nickname did not escape his notice. He watched as she began to lick her lips nervously, her eyes darting between the walls, the floor, and his eyes, a clear sign of her uneasiness. He knew it. He had got her. And it had surprised her out of her anger.

The reason he had confronted her became clear now. He had wanted her to continue shouting. He had wanted her to swear at him, and ask how he had gotten such ideas about Theodore Nott. He was hoping, deep down, that she would call him all sorts of names, would swear herself into ignoring him for a week, because that would mean that whatever he had assumed, the tale his mind had spun out of anger, was not true, and he would have been able to burn those thoughts away. But now, her attitude was just proving him, and is theory, right.

"I know he knows about you – what you are." He snapped. He in fact did _not_ know this, but had decided to present this idea first. If she denied it and resumed arguing with him, then the rest could not be true, and he would be satisfied.

"Shit." She brought a hand up to rub her temple. Draco felt as if he had been slapped in the face. Theodore Nott _did _know about her – probably all about her. She wasn't his secret anymore, Theodore knew about her, too. Only, she chose Theodore. While he, Draco had been forced upon her because his house was being used as headquarters, and all prisoners – anyone who survived long enough to be taken prisoner – were kept in his cellar.

The truth of it all slammed into his chest, and he hated how it hurt so much.

"So," he mustered a sneer, putting all of his energy on saving face and not letting her see how broken he was on the inside. "You and Theo?" He mocked her voice. "I'm sure you get it on real good late at night-"

"You ignorant, insufferable pig! It's nothing like that!" The anger was back, flashing behind her eyes dangerously. Draco bit the inside of his cheek to keep from doing something he might regret. She was such a liar!

"How can you stand there and lie to my face? I _saw_ the two of you!" She looked a little discomforted, but retaliated quickly.

"Well, you came to wrong conclusion then, because Theo and I aren't sneaking out together or doing the dirty. You don't know his reason!"

"Well, why don't you enlighten me?" He jeered. Kate paused, and bit her lip.

"I – I can't tell you. He swore me to secrecy."

"Oh! Right! Sworn to secrecy, very convincing. And I'm supposed to believe that you're noble enough to keep your word to a complete stranger?" It was like someone else was speaking. Hadn't she just denied what he was worried about? Why not end it all right now. But the serpent was awake, furious, and determined to taste the freedom it had been denied for years.

"I actually value my word and promises! Not like you _Slytherins_!" She spat. Draco blinked. Then he completely lost it.

"I'm so glad we have this sorted out then. Don't come back into the dormitory. I don't want your filthy, Mudblood influence on me." He looked her up and down, screwing up his face in disgust. It was so _easy_ to do this: to lie to her, to release his anger by hurting her. But she didn't look hurt, she looked even more furious than before. Damn her, why couldn't she look upset at his words! Why did she have to be so bloody proud? Couldn't she tell he needed her to show him how he really felt inside, and not reflect the façade he was putting on?

Draco sneered at her, and then turned to strut back out the Owlery. She yelled something to his retreating back before, with an audible rip of clothes, shape shifting into a bald eagle and launching herself out of the stone opening.

Night had completely enveloped the school, and Draco's ear rang as he marched across the overhang. Her last insult followed him all the way to the common room.

"_Death Eater_!"

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**so what do you think? did i capture draco alright? poor boy, he's so confused and lost int he world. critics call harry, ron, and hermione misfits, but honestly, i think draco is one as well.**

**dont forget to review review review!!! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**ok, so at first i was not going to post this up, because this ties in with several other yet-to-come chapters. but after it reached over 4000 words, i had to put it by itself.**

**ill comment on it at the end so i dont ruin anything for you accidentally. lol**

**thanks so much to _Lakis_, who let me know i'm doing going ok, and _Chrisitina_ (which might have been a typo for "Christina") for very enthusiastically telling me i am on the right track, giving small advice and wants as a reader, and strengthening my determination to see this fanfic to the end. and thanks to any of readers who have not honored me by reviewing **cough*cough****

**:) anyways, you all know i dont own most of this stuff. this is just what happens when J.K. Rowling meets my imagination.**

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Chapter 8

It was the worst, and possibly the longest, week Draco had ever had to endure at Hogwarts. He had already taken into account the last weeks in the fifth year, during the cramming for the O.W.L.'s, and decided that he would gladly relive those three weeks than this one. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. He had no clue on how he could resolve any of it. But one thing was for sure. All the little problems could be solved if put together.

The question, however, wasn't _how to make it right_.

It was _could his pride endure making it right_.

_Monday_

He awoke for the third time that night. This time, it wasn't the snoring, or the need to rush to the nearest lavatory. This time it was the sudden and uncomfortable heat. Draco lied on his back on his four-poster, eyes still closed, breathing slowly. The dormitory had never been so hot and stuffy. His sheets were bunched up on the foot of his bed, but there was still a heat coursing through him that refused to be cooled. Irritated, he turned onto his side, trying to get comfortable and resume his choppy night. But that position was uncomfortable. He flipped onto his other side, before attempting Blaise's method of sleeping: completely hidden beneath the comforter. But that just proved to be most uncomfortable, as the comforter confined his limbs and made all movement sluggish.

Draco's eyes snapped open as he sat up in bed. He didn't wait for them to adjust to the dark dormitory before grabbing his mother's wand and slipping out of bed. He heard the bell from the clock tower chime four times as he made his way to the dormitory door; it was four in the morning. Brilliant, he thought, just bloody brilliant.

His hand was on the door when he looked to the right. There, on the four-poster nearest the door, was Theodore Nott all snug in his own four-poster bed, sleeping happily and without a care. Already irritated, Draco was consumed by bitterness at the thought of Theodore sleeping soundly while his own night was spent half awake and half asleep. He wrenched open the door, mustering enough self-control to not slam the door and wake up all the seventh-year Slytherin boys, but could not deny himself the pleasure of stomping down into the common room; a simple non-verbal spell muffled the sound.

The common room was quite, and with no fire burning, it was quite cold. Draco pointed his mother's wand at the fireplace. _Incendio_, he thought, and even in his head his tone was acidic. Several sparks shot out of the tip of the wand, and a large fire suddenly appeared, crackling angrily, reflecting the mood of its caster.

Draco stood in front of the large glass window. With the fire behind him, the waters of the lake seemed to glow and dance, as if it were alive. They swirled an eerie green-blue, and the stalactites that had formed on the rocks and base of the castle resembled fangs of a dragon.

He stood there watching the water of the lake for a long while. The Giant Squid swam by twice. The view of a giant sea creature idly swimming by the window of the common room was a sight that always phased first-years. Draco had been no exception to this rule six years ago. But now, it didn't seem frightening or odd, but a perfectly commonplace occurrence.

All the while as he stared out into the vast, green haze that was the deep lake, his mind swarmed with thoughts of Kate. His mind played and replayed their row in the Owlery. He pictured her furious face and heard her words that had slashed him deeply. He went over everything he said, and all his reasons for saying them. But it was like watching the scene from a penseive. He watched it through his mind's eye as though they were someone else's memories. He relived the moment, but was too numb to feel the flurry of emotions that had cut and bruised the two teenagers that night.

The first student that came down into the common room from the dormitory found the blonde, seventh year boy sitting by the giant glass window with his head resting on the adjacent stone wall. Draco, brought out of his daze by the thud of quick footsteps coming down the stone steps, nodded to the fourth-year boy, who gave him a half smile in greeting. He was of average height, with curly, straw-colored hair on his head. He was already dressed for class, but did not carry a bag or book with him.

It suddenly occurred to Draco that he had been sitting here, gazing out the window, for several hours. If this fourth-year was already getting ready to eat breakfast and start his classes, then it wouldn't be long before the whole of Slytherin was up and about, and time would eventual demand for him, too, to head to class.

"Hey, Pritchard?" Draco called to the boy. "What's the time?" Graham Pritchard paused at the entrance, glancing over his shoulder.

"It's seven. Classes start in an hour." He replied. "Have you been down here long?"

"A bit, yeah." Draco answered. Pritchard nodded once.

"Well, I'm off to the Great Hall. The others will be coming down soon." Draco nodded. His alone time was over. Pritchard, however, had not moved from the entrance. Draco looked at him questioningly. The younger boy hesitated, uncertain, but then took a deep breath.

"What's going to happen to us?" The boy asked quietly. Draco frowned, not understanding what the other meant. The fourth-year swallowed, then took a step forward, into the common room. The hidden stone door slid close behind him.

"What's going to happen to us, if we don't join You-Know-Who?" Draco said nothing, not sure if the younger Slytherin was accusing him of being a Death Eater and affiliated with the Dark Lord. But his face was uncertain and nervous, not pompous and confident. Suspicious, Draco decided only to give selected answers.

"It's just that," Pritchard continued. "The other Houses don't want to talk to us or work with us anymore. Charlotte Torentt, who's in Ravenclaw, won't even speak to Olivia Harper because she's in Slytherin, and they've always been best friends. And Bran Alaric's cousin and his friends are always hexing him because he's Slytherin, and they're all in Gryffindor." There was no denying the bitterness in the younger boy's voice. Draco said nothing. He didn't know why this boy was telling him this. What did Pritchard expect _him_ to do about it?

"And then my best mate, Malcolm Baddock… his relatives on his dad's side live in Hungary. But his great aunt was convicted to have been Muggle-born, so they took the whole family. His dad went over there to try and sort things out, but we they haven't heard from Mr. Baddock since he left, and that was in February." The boy paused, searching the older student's face, but still Draco remained silent, allowing no emotion to bubble up. Pritchard took a shaky breath, then continued.

"Things haven't been going so well in my family either. We've been getting surprise visits from Death Eaters and people from the Ministry."

"Why don't you go down to breakfast, Pritchard? Wait any longer, and everyone else will start coming down?" Draco spoke finally. He didn't want to hear anything more about the miseries in his House; he had his own problems to deal with. Relying on others was never a strong characteristic for Slytherins, but at the moment it was proving to be a very disappointing characteristic to have. Graham Pritchard, however, was a Slytherin, and knew about the slithering out of difficult corners.

"What are we supposed to do, Malfoy? We aren't wanted here in the school, and You-Know-Who doesn't seem to like us either. Where are we supposed to go! Those aren't the only stories – that's only what's happening in my year!" Desperation and fear mingled on his face. Draco knew what the boy wanted; he wanted to be safe, to know that somehow everything was going to be alright. It was everything Draco wanted. The war was straining the relationships of everyone. No one could escape – not even the Slytherins.

"I don't know." Draco answered quietly. It wasn't he answer he had wanted to give, but it was honest. Graham Pritchard continued to look at him, as if hoping waiting for an immeasurable amount of time would strike the pale seventh-year with an epiphany and enable him to solve everything.

Graham Pritchard looked as if he were about to openly argue with a boy three years older than himself, when a group of second year girls drifted down the stone steps. They were deep in conversation, and didn't give Draco Malfoy and Graham Pritchard a second glance. Pritchard waited for the stone door to close behind them before saying softly, "Tracey Davis – the Head Girl? – she isn't doing so well either. She's trying to help us out, but she's got her own problems. But you could help us out. Couldn't you? You're a Prefect, and your family is doing fine." Draco blinked, uncertain of what to say. What did the boy want - for him to rise up and lead the Slytherins as their own side in these dark times? What was he supposed to say?

Thankfully, he was saved from the dilemma of answering, for just at that moment, another boy with long, black locks and dark eyes came bounding down the stone steps.

"Oi, Graham! C'mon, mate, let's go to the Great Hall, I'm starved." The boy was Malcolm Baddock, and he punched Graham on the shoulder in greeting. "Oh…hey, Malfoy." He seemed wary of Draco, and puzzled that his best mate was actually holding a conversation with him. Draco nodded in return. Baddock, however, was not as interested in laying down his troubles to the seventh year as his friend had.

"Thanks for waiting up. Now, let's go!" And with that, Malcolm Baddock led Graham Pritchard out of the Slytherin common room, leaving Draco to contemplate these newly uncovered problems. Pritchard and Baddock had barely gotten though the entrance when more students began to file down in the common room, some already prepped in the uniform robes, others looking disorderly with opened black robes and unfastened green ties. Several were taking their bags and books with them. The slackers were lingering in the common room, not at all eager to go up to the Great Hall and start the day.

"Alright you two!" A voice called out suddenly. "What's going on?" Tracey was hurrying down the small steps, making her way over to a pair of first year boys who were arguing quietly over by the fire. She was the only older student in the gaggle of younger Slytherins that now filled the common room besides Draco. Most of the other six- and seventh-years were still up in their dormitories, using their free period to extend their sleeping hours.

By the fireplace, the two boys turned to her with guilty expressions, and one of them quickly put something behind his back. Draco squinted, trying to make out what the object was, but the first-year's fist was closed around it, blocking it from view.

"Nothing, Davis. We were just talking." One said innocently. Tracey ignored him.

"What's that behind you? Let me have it." She commanded. The boys exchanged glances. Then the one who spoke bit his lip and brought his fist out from behind his back. Curious, Draco walked over to the small group. He was a pace away when he recognized what looked like a piece of green and purple candy. It was a Puking Pastille, just one of the many ingenious things that could be found at Weasley's Wizarding Wares at Diagon Alley. The green part of the toffee created the perfect effect to escape class – it made the eater vomit uncontrollably. The purple half would cease the vomiting upon entering the mouth, and was most often eaten once the student had been sent to the Hospital Wing. Very clever and useful, but it had also, inescapably, made its way into the long list of objects and supplies banned at Hogwarts.

"A Puking Pastille?" Tracey asked incredulously. "This is what has got you two arguing so early in the morning – a _Puking Pastille_?"

"We bought a Skiving Box down in Diagon Alley this summer. But that's the only one left, and _he_ wants to use it!" One said in explanation.

"Yeah, but I just wanna use it to skip class. _You_ wanna use it tomorrow to skip your Transfiguration exam!" The other retorted.

"Cimerron, you know Professor McGonagall won't take puking as an excuse to not take an end-of-the-term exam. Even if you miss tomorrow, she'll make you take it some other time. And knowing her, she'll make it harder." The first boy dropped his gaze, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. His plan had failed. His friend was now eying the pastel hopefully.

"And both of you know these things are banned." Tracey continued, looking stern. "I should confiscate this right now." Both boys glanced up at her furiously.

"You can't take that! We bought that with our own money! It's _ours_!" Cimerron argued.

"Yea, it's ours! Why should you get to keep it?"

"Because I'm Head Girl, and unless you want to be caught by Filch, I suggest you not argue with me." Both first year boys looked furious. Draco watched the scene, hopeful. If Tracey confiscated the Puking Pastille from these two first-year boys, maybe he could jack it from her. But she suddenly gave a tiny smile.

"And I also suggest that you not argue anywhere else. The effects are the same if you split it in half." She extended her hand, the green and purple pastel lying on her palm. "I know that from experience, and that time there was three of us to split it between." The tow boys stared up at her with huge eyes, surprised at their lucky break. Cimerron snatched back the pastel, as if afraid Tracey would go back on her offer, and the two scurried away. "Now don't let Filch catch you!" She called to their retreating backs.

"Now, why," Draco drawled. "Did you do that?" She turned to face him.

"Oh, you saw all that?" She sighed. "Because those two are always getting into trouble. I remember the Weasley twins; Cimerron Ottley and Henry Bogston would give those two a run for their money. Besides, what was I supposed to do? I'm not going to take points away from Slytherin, and I can't give them detention. Call me soft, but I don't think enduring the Cruciatus Curse is appropriate punishment for having one Puking Pastel." She looked Draco in the eye, eyebrow slightly raised, as if asking him whether he disagreed. He didn't say anything, just nodded.

"Besides," she continued. "Slytherin could use with _one_ person of authority who isn't going to be so hard on them." Was it Draco's imagination, or was her voice sprinkled with sorrow? But when she spoke again, she changed the subject and her voice was light.

"So, why are you down here so early? It's Monday – don't you start off with a free period?" She didn't even try to hide her curiosity. Draco shrugged, debating whether or not to tell her the truth. He decided on half of it.

"Couldn't sleep." He replied. She made a soft, sympathetic titter. Her arm twitched, as if she were going to touch Draco. But then she seemed to remember what had happened on her last encounter with him, and her face hardened.

"Well, I'll see you after lunch." She said shortly, and then glided out of the common room. He allowed her several minutes head start before heading up to the Great Hall for breakfast himself – he did not want her to think that he was following her or trying to make amends. He still had self-pride.

He sat down at the Great Hall half-expecting Kate to be there as a cat. Surely she wouldn't miss a meal just because of their row. But as he grabbed himself some sausages, toast and jam, there was no sign of a feline. Well, all for the best, he thought. It would have been quite uncomfortable with her there glaring at him throughout his first meal of the day. And the last thing he needed was a bad start to the first day of the week. It was, perhaps, better that she distanced herself from him today. He was still angry at her, and hurt that she, of all people, had called him a Death Eater.

But no matter, no matter! That wasn't the now, and if he always lived in the past he would never get on with life. He just had to forget; oh, he wouldn't forgive her, just put it out of mind so he could get through the day. With this thought, he spread some jam over his toast, feeling slightly better than he had when he first woke up.

He ate slowly, however, and he wasn't so successful in ignoring the voice that jeered he was eating this slowly only in hopes of seeing a honey-brown cat prance in. Already, the younger students were scurrying away to their classes, the sixth and seventh years just now starting to make their way down.

He was serving himself some eggs when a tall boy settled in front of him. Looking up, Draco recognized Theodore Nott, and immediately lost his appetite. An array of different emotions swirled within him as he watched Theodore reach for some eggs, and dip a corner of toasted bread into the eggs.

"So, Draco," he started nonchalantly. "Where's that cat of your – Phoenix?" Something ugly grabbed hold of Draco at the mention of Kate. As indifferent as Theodore wanted to sound, it was more than just odd to be asking for someone's pet. Draco shrugged, filling his mouth with a forkful of eggs to keep from answering.

"Hm. It's just that, she's always here on the table with you. Mind you," he gave a short laugh. "I don't mind, so don't think I'm asking for you to bring that fur ball back."

The snake within him stirred, hissing, angry that Theodore was referring to Kate as 'that fur ball'. He hated the mention of Kate from Theodore at all. He was at a loss of how to answer. He was saved, once more, on the trouble of answering because there came the loud sound of many wings flapping: mail was here.

Draco glanced up, searching through the sea of feather and wings for his eagle owl Nuit. A large, spotted owl swooped in, dropping a scroll of parchment in front of Theodore before resting on his shoulder. Right behind the spotted owl glided a female eagle owl. She gracefully landed on the table, releasing a small box from her beak and extending a leg, on which was attached a rolled piece of parchment. He immediately detached the small scroll from the owl's leg, and began to read, ignoring Nuit as she began to pick from his plate. He recognized his mother's neat and curvy hand at once, and it calmed him slightly as he read it. He had not realized he had been holding his breath until he released it; everything was alright at home.

Aunt Bella was as expected: humiliated from the failure, restless at being restricted inside the manor, and therefore extremely irritable and vexing. His father (who, Draco had learned in fifth year, had been rivals with Bellatrix since their first year of Hogwarts) was now arguing with Aunt Bella constantly, leaving his mother in the middle and feeling very much as if dealing with two small children. Draco could not help but smile as the image of his father and Aunt Bella scowling at each other from across the lounge flitted across his mind.

But Narcissa Malfoy had not wasted a piece of parchment to tell her son how life was at home. Nearly half of her letter consisted of questions of whether or not he was alright and to inform him that the Dark Lord had not mentioned him since he left for Hogwarts; she also stressed her wish that he remained out of trouble, be safe and do only as he was told. Above all, she reminded him that she loved and missed him.

Draco folded the letter underneath his plate, and resumed eating, feeling both content and bothered. He was happy that his family, although humiliated and with swollen prides, was physically doing well. The Dark Lord had not gone calling on the Malfoys since their failure to hold Potter and his friends back during the Easter holiday; this he was not complaining. It peeved him, however, that his mother was once again treating him like a child. He was _seventeen_, for Merlin's sake! He was _of age_! He didn't have to be told 'I love you' and 'please don't do anything foolish, dear' like a first-year.

But then again, if she hadn't he would have been left feeling alone and pitiful. Here was written proof that at least one person still cared for him and was willing to stand by him. Here was one person who had said forever and hadn't backed down on her word.

Not like Kate, he thought bitterly.

The thought was so unexpected that he was startled out of his thoughts. He quickly took the opportunity before him to bury those thoughts of her and focus on his disappearing breakfast.

"Nuit, you stupid pigeon, do you mind not eating _all_ of my breakfast?" He asked the eagle owl sardonically. She glanced up at him, hooted and, as if to prove her point that he wasn't going to do anything about it, she gobbled up the remains of his egg.

"Alright, alright, you blasted owl, you had your breakfast! Now away with you. Go!" She nipped his fingers, then spread her wings before Draco could retaliate. Draco watched her go; his father had bought him Nuit in his first year, and since the first day he had gotten her, they had shared a seriously twisted love/hate relationship. If an animal could be sorted into a House, she would without a doubt be in Slytherin. Perhaps that was why the two got along so well – as well as owl and man could get along, that is.

Draco turned back to the long table to pile up his plate with some more food, when he saw Theodore's face. It was blank, yes, without any indications that something was wrong. But being friends with someone for several years gives a great advantage to realizing when something wasn't right. Theodore's face showed no emotion as he sat reading the letter that had come with his spotted owl. His eyes were hard, angry, and it was obvious that his jaws were clenched.

Theodore suddenly put down the scroll, and his gaze met Draco's, who had been sitting quite still as he observed this odd behavior.

"You need?" Theodore asked coldly.

"Er," Draco glanced around for an excuse. "Erm, I was just wondering if you could pass the blackberry jam." He pointed to a bowl that was just out of his reach. Theodore whipped out his wand, and for a split second Draco's heart plummeted as he thought the other boy was going to jinx him. But Theodore only flicked his wand – a bit vigorously – at the bowl, which rose a foot in the air and sailed towards Draco.

Draco swallowed in relief.

"Thanks mate."

"I'm going to the common room, if anyone needs me." Theodore said roughly, as if he hadn't heard the pale Slytherin sitting before him. With that, he got up and walked out of the Great Hall. Draco sighed, rubbing his forehead.

Tracey was mad at him. Kate was pissed at him. The Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors hated him. The younger Slytherins were afraid of him or asking for answers to questions he didn't know. His family was locked away out of his reach in what used to be his home. And now Theodore was mysteriously cold towards him.

He was, undeniably, alone.

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**ok, so what did you think? i know there was no interaction with kate - don't worry, there will be, i havent forgotten her - but i wanted to show that Hogwarts is divided and Slytherin is just sort of the member of the family that is being ganged up upon. its falling apart and not only do you have 17 year olds dealing with it, but you have 11 year olds that are feeling it too. lots of problems, and its all sort of coming down. did i capture that well enough?**

**ok, well thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed and please review!! :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**hello! i know this is a short chapter, but thats because i decided to split up the one huge chapter i had into 6 different ones. so yea, this was one of the days that had not-so-much written for it. there's more, i promise :)**

**putting my story on your story alert or fave is another way of complimenting my work. so thanks so much to _Jamie2256_ for favorite-ing this, _Team Rosalie_ for asking for an alert, and _xXxDragonPhoenixXx_ for favoriting, alerting, and giving a quick review via the messages here. :) and of course, to my sister, who reads all the new chapters and continues to motivate me, and sketches out visuals of my characters.**

**as you know, everything found in the HP books belong to JK Rowling. Kate and many of the personalities of all minor characters belong to me.**_

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__Tuesday_

He is standing in the drawing room of his house, a wand in his hand. It's his proper wand, the wand that chose him six years ago at Ollivander's - he knows its shape, the feel of it in his hands. The high-backed chair at the corner of the room is occupied, but he can't see by whom; from the corner of his eyes, he can only make out a figure cloaked in black. His full attention is on the heap trembling on the floor. Draco is terrified. Fear has gripped him by the throat, making him mute, and unable to breathe as it sits flatly on his chest. The trembling mass on the floor shifts. By the firelight, Draco can see bead of sweat gleaming on the white skin.

A voice sounds from the chair, high and cold and pitiless.

"More, Rowle, or should we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord Voldemort is not sure that he will forgive this time…" The heap on the floor shivered, and Draco's terror mounted. "You called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure."

The miserable heap on the floor lifted itself up just enough to turn its head towards Draco. The boy didn't take in the gashes, bruises or swollen face. His eyes were locked on the frightened eyes; eyes that had lost honor and pride. His stomach bucked at the Dark Lord's words. He didn't want to do this; he wasn't angry or at all ill-favored towards Rowle! He didn't want to do it; it was wrong, so very wrong! He didn't want to hurt anyone anymore, he didn't want to have to hear cries of pain and fear tearing through his house and echoing in his brain! He was drenched in reluctance. A thought came to him. What if he refused…what if he made like the Gryffindors… what if he tried to resist and rise against…?

"Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!"

If he was terrified before, he was petrified now. He lifts his wand, his arm shaking badly. His brain screams for his eyes to look away from the black eyes that are filled with anguish and terror and beseeching quietly back up at him. But he has to do it! He has to, he has no choice!

His lips barely move as he casts the Cruciatus Curse. Rowle's head drops down in pain; screams of pain reverberate through the room. When the heap on the floor looks up again, Draco's cries fill the air as well.

For it isn't Rowle's face that was gleaming by the firelight, or his dark eyes that are looking up at Draco. It's Kate on the floor, screaming in agony, eyes locked on his, filled with pain and hurt. The fire is gone; all the fight had been blown out through torture. Torture that Draco himself inflicted, is inflicting…

Draco stumbled backward, heart throbbing. No! This wasn't how it was supposed to go! He never meant it to be her, never wanted her to be hurt; especially not by him! It was Rowle that day on the floor, Rowle who was supposed to be screaming and crying out.

"Do it!" The cold voice screams. Draco is trembling uncontrollably. Between Rowle and himself he had no choice. But this is Kate, he couldn't, he just couldn't…

He cries out as the dark figure raises his wand, as it points to Draco's chest, as his lips part to scream out the curse that would black Draco into a world of darkness and unimaginable pain… he closes his eyes…

But no sound is coming out, and suddenly his mouth and nose are filling with water. Draco opens his eyes, and he's out in the middle of an ocean. A voice resounds somewhere in his head – "_It definitely didn't go like this_" – but he ignores it as a wave of black water threatens to pull him under. He kicks his legs, struggling to stay afloat. Everywhere he looks it is just water and darkness, water and darkness, water and darkness…

And then he spots it! Shore! Merlin's beard, he's never felt so relieved in his life. But even as he thinks of swimming to it, the black waters are roaring up again, pushing him back, and he's struggling to stay up again. He fights it with every ounce of strength he has. He _has_ to get to shore! Somehow he knows that once he reaches land, everything will be alright. He is forced under again, and this time his lungs are straining and screaming for lack of oxygen. Surface! He needs the surface!

Gasping for air, he breaks through the surface, and he is searching desperately for that piece of land. Aha! He spots it again; it is much closer this time, and he can make out a lone figure waiting on the shore…a lone figure with honey-brown hair, skin that has known sun, and big brown eyes…

Draco sat up in bed, gasping. His legs ache, as if he had been treading water, and his palms and chest were sweaty. He propped himself back onto his hands, but they were trembling so much that they provided little support for his torso. He glanced around the room, half expecting to see the Dark Lord or Kate or Rowle. But there was no one in the Slytherin dormitory that was not supposed to be there.

Draco squeezed his eyes together, breathing in and out evenly, trying to slow his racing heart. Then, and only then, did he allow himself to ponder about the recent turn of this common nightmare.

Revisiting the night when he had been forced to torture Rowle was something that had haunted him for a long time. He had been forced to do it earlier this year, and it had been his second time actually accomplishing an Unforgivable Curse. Only, placing the Imperius Curse on Madam Rosmerta had been far more pleasant; especially when he had not had direct contact with her. Performing the Cruciatus Curse on Rowle… Draco shuddered. That had proven to leave quite a mark on him.

But he had grown used to this particular nightmare. It still unnerved him, but he had learned to cope with it until it had slowly filtered out of his nights. The fact that it had returned was not what had him uneasy. It was the nightmare's make-over.

Kate was _not_ supposed to take the place of Rowle. It had been so much easier to relive torturing Rowle; it certainly beat reliving _being_ tortured. But when Rowle had turned into Kate, it had seemed that much more real, the screams were that much louder, the agony had pierced him rather than just cut him.

And the eyes. Draco shuddered unconsciously as he remembered her eyes, which had stared at him. It was more than just pain and hurt – it was betrayal. The fire had been put out, with no embers left to spark up another one. She was still breathing, but she wasn't alive. Because _he_ had done that. _He_ had killed her.

His heartbeat was picking up again, his hands beginning to shake once more. He pushed all the dark thoughts out of his mind, controlling his breathing again to prevent any more unpleasant emotions from overpowering him. It was just a dream, he told himself. Just a dream, it didn't mean anything. He threw his legs over the edge of his four-poster, rubbing his eyes wearily. The lack of light in the dormitory clued him in that it was still early morning; much too early to begin getting ready for classes. But while he was trying to calm his nerves, most of him was still so uneasy about this recent nightmare that he did not want to fall back asleep again.

He gazed around the room, taking in the familiar scenery to ease his unsettled nerves. This was one place where he felt relatively safe. Home had become such a strange place, that now he took no comfort in it. It was one thing he was sure of that would remain constant. He may not be completely happy here, but it was a retreat from the darker, larger world outside.

Draco suddenly froze as his eyes came to a rest at a single four-poster. The four-poster situated right by the door. It was very well done; the lump was just the size of the tall, dark-haired boy it belonged to. But the quilt had fallen back, and exposed, not the body of a seventeen-year-old boy, but several pillows lined up in a row.

Theodore Nott was out of bed after hours.

He had no reason to assume that he was out with Kate. He hadn't seen Kate since their row, and, judging from Theodore's comment the day before, he hadn't seen her either. He had no proof against the reasonably explanation that Kate had just disappeared after their heavy argument in the Owlery. It would have been very easy to just fly up and away. She had, Draco's reasonable side pointed out, transformed into an eagle and flown out the window when he had last seen her. It was very likely that she had taken the opportunity to leave for good.

But the nasty voice in his head whispered otherwise, suggesting something crueler, something that sliced into Draco like a sharp knife. Kate had not left the castle; she had just abandoned her previous company and went with a more suitable one.

Draco laid back down against his bed, preferring not to have the empty bed as a visual reminder of the two of them. He had thought – or, rather, hoped – that the second day would be better, that he would have gotten used to the idea of Kate gone, that he would have grown tolerant of the sting of her betrayal. But the sting had not eased overnight. If anything, it had gotten worse.

Much worse.

Draco had not realized that he had dozed off until he was awakened by the shuffling of feet and the murmuring of voices. Blearily, he lifted his head from his pillow, cringing slightly as it cracked. He glanced around the room for the source through half-opened eyes. It was Crabbe and Goyle, standing in the center of the dormitory, huddled over something with their head bent together. Puzzled, Draco sat up onto his elbows, trying to determine what they were conversing about. It was not big deal however; Crabbe had a sheet of parchment in his hands that seemed to be scribbled all over, while Goyle held the required textbook for Herbology. Draco relaxed back across his pillows, blinking at the ceiling. They were just discussing homework, and Draco was willing to bet they were discussing an assignment that was due today.

He did not acknowledge their presence, and they paid him no attention. And so, Draco went back to the musings within his own mind. Try as he might to deny it, the recent turn of this nightmare had him on edge. He didn't kill Kate; he never could. He couldn't even kill Dumbledore, and he didn't care about _him_. But he didn't care about Kate either! No, not after what she had done. She had demonstrated what happened when you opened yourself to others, when you put down your guard enough to trust them. She had taught him the lesson, and he had learned. He would not make the same mistake again.

But he couldn't just ignore what he had seen in his dream. Why had Rowle turned into Kate, why had he suddenly been drowning? Kate had infiltrated his mind, and now she was invading his nights. A part of him was furious, but the other half was desperate to find her, to talk to her, to make sure she was alright.

Draco suppressed a groan. What was wrong with him? Why was he so divided within himself over one stupid girl? He wanted to have her back, but wanted nothing to do with her; he wanted to speak with her again, to apologize, and yet he refused to be the first to plead for forgiveness; he wanted to find her make sure she was safe, that she was ok, but he wanted to keep his distance and stay away from the poison. What he needed, he mused was for Kate to get out of his head and heart, once and for all.

The time ticked by, and Draco heard the door open and close. Wondering if someone had come in, Draco lifted his head, then groaned. No one had entered: Crabbe and Goyle had left. Seeing as they were never early to class, if they had cut short discussing the due homework assignment, then classes were due to begin. And that meant he had better get dressed and packed fast, and _that_ meant he didn't have time for breakfast.

Draco pushed himself out of bed, fumbling through his trunk for the school uniform and robes. His mind felt numb, and he barely paid attention as he buttoned up the white shirt; halfway through he realized he had missed a button, and had to redo button the shirt. And even though it took him about twice as long to fasten his tie, his brain was too dismal to get irritated.

He could have _really_ used a Puking Pastille right about now.

He grabbed his Potions book and bag, hoping that all his ingredients and scales were in there; if they weren't, he would just have to ask Blaise. Draco trudged out of the Slytherin common room, stifling a yawn. He was dimly aware of being grateful that Potions was located in the dungeons, and was therefore only one floor above the his common room; it would take him about five minutes to get to class.

Though he tried not to, he caught himself glancing off to the sides as he made his way down several long and twisting corridors and up a flight of stairs. There were no students, ghosts, or any sign of movement down in the dungeon levels; especially not the swift movement of a girl taking the form of a honey-brown tabby cat…

Draco shook his head, as if trying to clear it, and clutched his textbook more firmly. You are _not _going to do this today, he thought firmly to himself. That's it, she's gone, and it's all for the better. She does _not_ rule your life! He forced himself to stare straight ahead. He was not going to think of her, and he wasn't going to be moody and depressed all day just because he hadn't seen her since Saturday night. Hadn't she betrayed him? Hadn't she already lied and abandoned him? Hadn't she told him that she saw him as a Death Eater?

The remembrance of the old wound stung anew. And the stinging gave heat to the pot of anger that was stored within him, boiling it to an angry bubbling mass. Together, the pain and anger gave him the strength to march into Potions with a straight back and confidence demeanor.

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**so, what did you think?this isnt my fave chapter, but i gotta post it so i can get to wed. i have most of the rest of the week written out. lol. and i might have to change the rating later on, because its sort of bordeline on t and m. i think it would be ok in a pg-13 rated movie, therefore i think it shouldnt change, but still...**

**ok thats all. remember to review!! **


	10. Chapter 10

**Yay!! i got through wednesday really quickly. im really happy with this im glad that i got 2 more reviews for the last one. it was odd, considering that was my elast favorit chapter. lol.  
this is still still a pretty short chapter, but not as much as the last one.**

**thank you to _PhoenixFeatherQueens_ and _Leonora_ for putting this one their favorite stories and alert. that is a compliment all on its own, since you wouldn't make an alert or make it one of your favorites if you didnt like it. double thanks to _Leonora_ for taking the time to review ~ you did everything possible, and i really appreciate that! and another thank you to _Christina_ who reviewed twice :D **

**ok, but enough of that ~ enjoy! :)**

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__Wednesday_

"Do it!" The cold voice pierces the air one more time. His heart slams against his chest. He knows what is going to happen, even before it does. Kate cringes in pain, but her eyes never look away from his. The white hand raises the wand, ready to perform the Killing Curse, a curse that the wand has performed many a times.

But there was no flash of light, just a swarm of dark, angry water. It swirls around the room, and Draco yelps as he is thrown under. He kicks his legs, desperate to find the surface. But the room is gone, and he is once again drowning in the ocean, the only thing in sight is a thick darkness and water. He kicks his legs, struggling to stay afloat.

But the water is spiteful, and a giant wave forms and Draco has time just to recognize that the wave looks strangely like a giant hand before he is shoved under once more. The black waters swirl around his head, tossing him deeper and deeper. Water fills his nose and ears, but some sense has remained with him. He fights panic, calming himself and thinking of what to do. Find the surface, he thinks. Find the surface. But even as he thinks this, he reaches another problem: he doesn't know where the surface is. He was pushed down farther, and the waves had turned him head over heels beneath the surface, causing him to lose the direction of the sky. Even beneath the water, there is only darkness, which grows neither lighter nor darker no matter in which direction he faces.

Panic grips him now, and he begins to kick his way to the right. His legs ache and his lungs are filled. He must break surface! There is just water and water everywhere he looks, and his lungs are ready to burst. He needs air, needs even a split second to gasp for breath! Draco is in full fledge panic as he twists and turns, frantically trying to break through the dark waters. Fear and panic are mounting now, and he can barely hold his breath much longer.

He involuntarily opens his mouth to gasp air that isn't there just as his hand breaks through. Water plunges into his mouth and throat, making him cough and retch as he kicks his legs to get his head above waters.

Draco looks around, searching for something. He wasn't quite sure what he was searching for, but he knows that when he spots it he will know it for what it is. It's as if a part of him knows what to do, where this terrifying journey is taking him. And then he spots it, and his searching is over! A strip of land stretches across the waters several yards away from him. He yearns for dry land, where he would not have to continue this desperate treading of water to stay alive. There, he knows he can relax; he can lay down and rest his head.

He didn't find it odd that the sun was shining upon the shore and not on the waters. His mind didn't seem to register how unusual it was that the land seemed pleasant and sunny, while the waters surrounding it were dark and devastating. He did find it odd, however, that he could spot a lone figure walking the edge of the sandy shore. Somehow, he is able to determine that it is female, and that it is oddly familiar. She faces the dark, angry waters, beckoning to him, her honey-brown hair blowing in the breeze, big eyes a warm brown and promising of better times.

Water fills his mouth, but he hears her calling him, inviting him to safety, to warmth, to better times…

"Draco!"

Draco's eyes snapped open, his heart still hammering. They barely had time to focus, but the pinch of panic that had still not left him retaliated to the face and dark eyes peering at him closely. He yelped, and sat up in a rush. This proved to be inefficient, as his head swarmed, blearing his eyesight. His heart was hammering the confines of his chest.

"Whoa, easy, mate. You were dead asleep. No one woke you for breakfast, but classes are due to start in less than ten minutes." Draco heard the voice, but his brain could not yet focus on the words, or their meaning. He blinked at the face looming over him. It was Theodore Nott, who face was composed, but whose eyes betrayed the concern and curiosity he really felt. Draco looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was in his four-poster bed, the green walls of their Slytherin dormitory free from even a drop of water. A thought dimly wondered where all the water went, but Draco immediately pushed it away as he realized that he had fallen into his nightmare again.

The same nightmare, with the same ending.

"Draco? You all right?" It's Theodore again, his voice hesitant. Draco blinks at him, struggling to compose his own features. His lungs still ache, and his legs are sore, as if he had been fighting the angry ocean.

"Fine," he croaked back. He swallowed and licked his dry lips. "I'm fine." He looked around the dormitory again, but he and Theodore were undeniably the only ones in the room. He must have appeared puzzled, because Theodore spoke an explanation.

"Everyone went up to the Great Hall. Not that they will be there anymore, there were only a handful of kids when I came back down here. You better get up and dressed fast." Theodore backed away, heading to his own four-poster, searching for something from beneath it. It was then that Draco realized that Theodore was already neatly dressed for class. He had already belted the dark blue pants with a matching belt; the white shirt, which was always left out until the very last minute, was neatly tucked in. Even the green and silver tie, which indicated the House of Slytherin, was already tied around his neck, underneath the collar of his shirt. He looked very fresh and prepped; a look that was never accomplished until the very start of class. If Theodore was already dressed as he was, then Draco did not have much time.

"How much time until class starts?" Draco asked aloud. Theodore straightened from beneath his bed, a battered textbook in his hands.

"Well, we had ten when I came up here."

"Fuck!" Draco swore under his breath, and threw off his comforter.

"I forgot the handbook for Arithmacy, that's why I came back up here. Glad I did. You have McGonagall this morning, don't you?" Draco nodded without looking at the boy, rummaging through his trunk and throwing all items pertaining to his uniform onto his four-poster.

"I would hurry if I were you. I overheard a third year saying that she and one of the Carrows had quite a nasty exchange of opinions – she won't be happy if you are late to class." He gave Draco a pointed look, stressing 'you' slightly. Draco looked back over his shoulder, not sure if he was going to say something nasty. He wasn't on very good terms with Theodore, not after everything with Kate and after the tall boy snubbed him yesterday during breakfast for no reason he could see. He didn't have to tolerate Theodore or anyone else reminding him that he was branded as a Death Eater, and for that most of the teachers had little respect for him. By the time he had worked his mind around what to retort, however, Theodore's back was already turned, heading out the dormitory. Draco sighed and swore angrily beneath his breath, before rushing into his clothes. He grabbed his bag, tossing out the Potions and Muggle Studies books and throwing in his Transfiguration and Charms books. He glanced through the compartments, double checking that he had parchment, ink and a quill. He could get by having no supplies in Slughorn's class, but McGonagall was never a lovey-dovey teacher, and was certainly not going to allow him to borrow anything from either herself or another student without taking away points from Slytherin.

Draco dashed out of the Slytherin common room and up several sets of stairs and corridors. The Transfiguration Corridor, thankfully, was on the north-east side of the castle, on the ground floor. This meant that Draco was not expected to run up nine floors and the length of the castle in five minutes. It was possible, Draco told himself, to be seated in class within five minutes - tight, but possible.

Missing breakfast for the second morning in a row, and another night of restless sleep proved to be very inadequate for focusing in class. All through Transfiguration, he found himself blinking excessively to keep his eyes from closing. He was also having a hard time concentrating on the spells they were currently performing.

They were transfiguring each other into animals. McGonagall had them paired up once more to transfigure the other into an ape, or - if you accomplished transforming your partner into an ape - a monkey. Draco had been paired up with Daphne Greengrass (after the row with Ernie Macmillan, she had not paired Draco with anyone other than a Slytherin). This was their second day practicing this exercise; it was more difficult than anyone had imagined, for McGonagall did not believe an "almost" achievement was worth any sort of praise. Apes were similar to humans in bone structure and intelligence, so it was the easiest animal to begin transfiguring humans; monkeys were slightly harder, only because they had a tail. The class before, Draco had been able to fully transfigure Daphne into an orangutan (she was not particularly thrilled about this, especially when Draco seemed to have difficulty transforming her _back_), and had earned Slytherin twenty points. He was expecting the same gratifying results today, but the presence of hunger and sleepiness was keeping him from succeeding.

"Draco," Daphne had hissed. "Pay attention! You're supposed to be transfiguring _me_, now. And aim, would you?" She added, as a streak of blue zoomed out of the tip of his wand and barely missed Professor McGonagall, whose lips pressed into a thin line as she peered sternly around the room, searching for the culprit. At the end of class, McGonagall commented on his low performance, and he walked out of the classroom tired, hungry, and his face pink with humility.

Charms had not gone any easier. Flitwick's high pitched squeak of a voice had been irritating and bothersome. It had hurt his ears, and during his lecture, Draco found himself slipping into sleep more than once. When it came to wand work, he encountered the same problem and low results he did in Transfiguration. Thankfully, Flitwick did not comment on his poor performance.

Lunch seemed to take forever to arrive. But it did, and Draco traipsed out the Charms classroom and followed the crowd of Hogwarts students down to the Great Hall. The dishes of various foods were already laid out across the long tables, and Draco hurried towards the Slytherin table at the left. Most of the teachers were already sitting at the high table in front of all the House tables. Because lunch was not a formal meal, they were already eating and socializing among themselves; except for Professor Snape, who was staring at the mass of students before him, looking much like a vampire with the strong contrast of his pale skin and long, black hair. Draco squeezed between a group of four Ravenclaw third-years, before finally reaching his table.

There were slices of several types of bread, an arrangement of fruits and vegetables, along with sliced cuts of cold meat and cheeses. Draco grabbed four slices of white bread, several slices of turkey and roasted ham, cheese, lettuce tomatoes and pepper. He stacked the meats, cheese and vegetables inside the slices of bread, making two even sandwiches. Merlin, he was starved! He took a huge bite of one before reaching for an apple.

He was halfway through his first sandwich when he caught Graham Pritchard staring at him. Draco stopped in mid-chew, gazing at the fourth-year. He had on a hard, determined expression, and when Draco did not look away, he craned his head to mutter something to his friend, Malcolm Baddock, who leaned forward to also stare at Draco. Feeling suddenly uneasy, Draco narrowed his eyes at the pair, and continued to chew, very slowly. It seemed however, that Graham Pritchard's ideas were not just for Malcolm Baddock's and Draco's ears. In a second, the whole group around the two fourth years was peering at the older, pale blonde Slytherin. Draco recognized Olivia Harper, Bran Alaric, Vega Bravu, and Avaline McFay. Draco turned away quickly, and groaned silently to himself. He did not want, or need, this at the moment. He had enough to deal with just taking care of himself, trying to forget about worrying about Kate, and making sure his parents were safe (Aunt Bella was more than capable of taking care of herself). He had his N.E.W.T.'s coming up, and needed to concentrate on passing them – _not_ figuring out the problems of a bunch of fourteen- and fifteen-years-olds.

Draco kept his gaze down on his plate as he began his second sandwich, but he could still feel the six pairs of eyes focusing on him. He wolfed down the apple, then grabbed his bag and rushed across the Great Hall, deciding to escape the pointed stares by hiding out in the Slytherin common room.

Call him a coward, but at least the problem was solved.

Down in the common room, Draco was able to relax. It was empty, save for Fiona Kenworthy, a sixth year, who was dozing off on one of the black couches, and a pair of third-years who were spread out on the floor with a textbook in front of them. They seemed to be arguing, and Draco was just at the foot of the small set of stairs when he heard one of the third-years call him.

"Look, Delilah, he's a Prefect, he'll tell you I'm right. Hey, Malfoy!"

"What?" Draco snapped, whirling around, and was surprised that he had not hid his irritation so well. The third-year boy standing behind him, who Draco recognized as Tristan Zotovich, seemed to suddenly regret his decision to ask the blonde boy.

"Er…nothing, it's alright."

"No, it's just, long and tiresome morning, Zotovich. What do you want?" He asked again, more kindly this time. Delilah, the girl, had crept closer now, and was standing an arm's length away from Zotovich.

"We're doing our Potions homework. Delilah says a bezoar is a stone that comes from the stomach of a goat. But stones don't come from the stomach of any animal, they come from the ground."

"Not a bezoar." The girl muttered, and the boy threw her a foul look.

"Well, she's right. A bezoar _is_ a stone, but it does come from the stomach of a goat. Don't ask me how, it just is." And he turned away before the boy could argue with him.

"Ha! Told you, Tristan! I _told_ you it comes from a goat's stomach!" The girl cried in obvious glee.

"Oh, shut up, Delilah." He heard Zotovich grumble, before shutting out all sound by entering the dormitory he shared with other Slytherin seventh-year boys.

Draco threw his bag onto his bed, before sitting at the foot of it, rubbing his eyes hazily. It was Wednesday – he only had two more classes today. Thankfully, it was History of Magic and Muggle Studies. History of Magic was the dullest class, but also required the least amount of work, which meant that passing the O.W.L had been a breeze, as would – he hoped – passing the N.E.W.T. It was taught by Professor Binns, who was a ghost and had been teaching the same class since he had been alive, which Draco thought made a quite dull and pathetic way to spend the rest of you undead years. Binns was perhaps the most oblivious teacher. No one paid attention in his class, and he didn't appear to notice if his class was in uproar or all dozing off. Indeed, sometimes Draco wondered whether Binns noticed if any students attended his class at all. Since History of Magic was all lectures and no wand work, it was a period where Draco could finally just doze off and catch up on some needed sleep.

Muggles Studies, taught by Amycus Carrow, occupied the period right after History of Magic. While it used to be a class that was left up to the choice of the student on whether or not to take it, it was now forced upon all students now that the Carrows were in the school and Snape was Headmaster. Draco hated that class, but since it required no wand work, he was looking forward to it today.

With a heart just a degree lighter, he removed his Charms and Transfigurations books from his bag, replacing them with the huge History of Magic textbook, and his notebook for Muggle Studies. He threw in an extra quill, just in case, and then began to make his way to the fourth floor in the West Wing at a much slower pace than he had gone to Transfigurations this morning.

* * *

It was late, two hours after hours. Too late, even, for Prefects and the Head Boy and girl. Yet Draco sat in the corner of the common room, farthest away from the door. There was no fire, but since it was spring time, he was comfortable with just a thick jacket. All of his homework was started and finished, and he had even seen to all of his duties as a Prefect tonight, which was something he had not done for a long while.

His thoughts often wandered to the warm bed sitting empty upstairs. But he couldn't go to bed. Because if he went to bed, he would sleep; and if he slept, he would dream.

And she would be back.

Draco had not spoken or seen Kate at all. He hadn't even caught a whisper of her. He wasn't angry – not really, not anymore. Now, he just wanted them to be friends, to go back to the way they were before the row in the Owlery. He missed her; he didn't want to admit it, but it was true, and it was because he had lost her that he was no longer able to sleep peacefully. He knew now that unless he patched things up with her, he would continue to lose sleep. He never had much patience for Divination – load of dragon shit, in his opinion. They had done dream journals, had analyzed made-up dreams to the bone, and read chapter upon chapter of dreams and their meanings in class. It had always been a waste of time to him before.

But he knew that this had meaning. Because he knew it was her who was waiting on the shore, who was standing in the place of safety and warmth and sunshine. The two things he wanted most were safety and Kate. And he knew that he could have one only when he found the other.

So, the solution to the dilemma of the nightmare was quite obviously to find Kate and hope that she had missed him as much as he missed her. Then maybe he would not be forced to beg and plead for her forgiveness, for he wasn't sure his pride could take that.

But Draco was willing to deal with pride issues when the time called for it. Right now he had to deal with the issue of not knowing where to look for Kate, or even where to begin. He didn't even know if she was in the castle anymore! She may be back in England, hours away from where he was now, at Hogwarts. Or, the idea that kept shoving itself to the front of his mind, but he did not like to consider, was that she took the opportunity to fly as far from him as was possible: out of the castle, out of the country, out of the hemisphere.

The sound of soft footsteps broke him out of his sullen thoughts. With half interest, he watched the archway that lead to the boys' dormitories, certain that the footsteps had sounded from there. When no one emerged, Draco thought he must have imagined it.

But he hadn't. Just then, a dark figure crept from beneath the archway, carrying a bundle in his arms. Draco pressed himself in the corner, sitting quite still, as if hoping to blend right into the wall. He mused over the thought that his jacket and hood were dark, and therefore camouflaging his pale skin and blonde head. His contentment was short lived, however, when the figure stopped in the center of the common room, and Draco recognized him as Theodore Nott.

Time seemed to drag on and on as Draco silently watched Theodore place the bundle that had been in his arms onto the floor, and as it began to move towards the common room entrance, he followed it. It was a rabbit, though Draco could not make out its coloring due to the darkness. The darkness, however, could not disguise the change that occurred, or the hand that suddenly seized Draco around the chest and stomach. His insides churned, and the serpent within him hissed and coiled within him. In mid-hop, the rabbit transformed from a long-eared rabbit to a slender ermine. The ermine slipped out the common room, followed closely by Theodore Nott.

An ermine that Draco knew to be Kate.

The stone door slid closed after them. The soft thud seemed to awaken Draco from his glazed stance. The serpent within him snapped its jaws, angry again. How _dare_ she? After everything he was going to do, after everything he was feeling. Just as he was starting to want her again, she came across with Nott. Draco stood up, glared at where she had just disappeared for a second longer, before making his way up to his dormitory. His heart was pounding with bitterness and anger, emotions that were sure to keep him up for the rest of the night.

Funny thing, life. Right when you start thinking you were wrong, and that perhaps it wasn't so unfair after all, it turns around and spits in your face.

* * *

**so, what did you think? i had so much fun typing this! it just flowed. i've never written something so fast. i began typing at 3-ish, and its now going to be 6 in the evening in 7 minutes. **

**so read and review! hopefully you enjoy reading it as i enjoy writing it. :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Ok, so having this chapter be just sort of there was really starting to bother me. so i quickly sort of ended it, because i cant upload anything else until i finish this one. and im so tired of ch 11**

**so yea, this was just sort of a tie-in ch. the only part im truly happy about is the kate part. the rest is sort of crappy, just because im tired of this already. i got other sections i want to move on to.**

**lots of thank to: _andread08_, _Leanora_, _SlytherinLover45_ (love your name btw lol), _Jamie2256_, _angellyons_, _xx-Jacob-lover-xx_ (you're team jacob, like my sis. soory, edward all the way - tho Taylor is really hot xD), _nymphoro_, _Sammiegirl_, _123hummingbird123_, and _Christina_**

**i don't own HP, rowling does. i do own Kate.**

_Thursday_

She quietly placed a hand on the door knob, and pushed the door in, keeping a secure hold on the sheet of parchment that was held in her mouth, pressed between her lips. On it she had scribbled notes all the information she thought might be useful to help him out. Tonight she had finished skimming through the last shelf of books in the Restricted Section. As he had class and she did not, she had convinced him to catch up on sleep, and retire earlier than usual; she would read through the books, jot down anything that seemed as if it would be of use, and then she would place the parchment in his trunk.

She had not been in the dormitory since she had been banished from it Sunday evening. But as she poked her head around, she pushed that from her mind – she did not want to have to think about all that was said that night. Besides, she was just going to drop off the parchment, and leave.

The dormitory was dark; far too dark to be able to make her way around with human eyes guiding her. So she shifted in form. Where a human girl had once stood with big brown eyes and honey-brown hair tied loosely into a pony tail at the nape of her neck, stood a tabby with honey-brown fur and eyes that were lacking the slits and oval shape. A folded sheet of parchment was held firmly in its mouth. She left the door ajar, the black robes she had been wearing lying discarded in its scanned the room, satisfied that she could now see. While her eyes had not taken the shape of a cat's, they had still exchanged the poor vision of a human for the superior night vision of a cat.

There were five four-poster beds creating a semi-circle around the dorm. She briefly surveyed each one from where she sat. Her eyes lingered on the four-poster bed that was just off-centered, rolling over the lump that was a student, hidden from her view by a single white sheet. But she forced her eyes away from that single bed, scanning the last two on her right, checking that no one was awake or absent.

Contented, Kate made her way over to the bed directly on her left. Here, she knew, slept Theodore Nott, a tall boy with dark brown eyes and matching hair. He was a bit weedy, but Kate was confident that he would fill out in a year, when his width finally grew out in proportion to his height. He had the cunning of a serpent and the hard-headedness of a badger.

She padded to his trunk, which was situated at the foot of his bed. In it, she knew, she would find his personal possessions. While she was a bit curious as to what was inside Theo's trunk, her sense to flee the dormitory as quickly as possible was stronger. Kate cast one last glance around her, to double check that all was silent, before shifting into a human again. She did not find it particularly comfortable to be fully naked in the bedroom of five boys, even if they were asleep, and so she quickly opened the trunk, placed the parchment atop of what seemed to be a hard-covered book, and shut it once more with a soft thud. Then she returned to her cat form.

Kate threw one last look behind her shoulder before heading towards the door. The faster she got out of the room, the faster she could sort out all her feelings, and calm the anxiety that had knotted in her chest. She had a notion of why all her emotions were going hay-wired, and she was sure that the notion was on target, but she did not want to touch upon that idea.

She was just to the wooden door when something behind her shifted. She jumped around, ears pricked forward in alarmed attention, eyes wide and searching to catch any breath of movement. The source of the movement sent a jolt to her heart. It was the boy lying asleep on the four-poster that stood not quite in the center of the semi-circle, who had previously been hidden from sight by the white sheet. He was shifting on his bed, trying to find a more comfortable position. He uttered a low moan before settling onto his other side. One pale hand slid from beneath the sheets, the fingers draping loosely on the side of the bed. He moved no more then, the only sounds the exhales from his breath.

He laid uncurled now, so that Kate, as a cat, could just glimpse the gleam of his pale blond head. She stood there, frozen with indecision, for a moment or two, while her heart throbbed with yearning and anticipation. She should just leave, her mind argued, just leave without making things so much harder. What she had wanted could not be, for they were not compatible – _that_ much was proven that past Sunday.

She could see the reasoning of her conscience, understood the logic behind turning away now and never laying eyes on him again. Yet she did not move, her eyes glued upon the pale white hand and hair that stood in such contrast to the darkness of the room.

Hesitantly, Kate took a step forward. She was dimly aware of the feel of the cold stone floor against the pads of her paws. Her conscience sizzled angrily, but her heart leaped in excitement. Her emotions collided and swirled into a hurricane within her. To see him, to touch him, to leave before he hurt her again, to leave before she hurt herself, to stop herself from becoming so dependent on something so unstable…

She took another step, then another. With each step, she became more anxious. Her mind hissed all sorts of warnings in disapproval, but she silenced it. Just one look, her heart told it, just to make sure he is okay.

It seemed a year before she reached his bedside. As a cat, she could not see his face, just his pale fingertips poking out from the edge of the bed. Her heart raced with yearning as she stood so close, and the same time so very far.

Within the blink of an eye, she transformed into a white-tailed doe. The elevated stance allowed her to see over the bed and down into his face. She wasn't sure what reaction she was expecting; perhaps she _had_ been preparing for what hit her next. Either way, prepared or not, the flurry of emotions that came to her at full-force, overwhelming her.

As she stared down into his face, her heart soared. Being near him again, smelling his scent, brought a wave of joy she had not felt in a long time. It was the joy of seeing family members and friends after being half way around the world; it was the joy of seeing your room after traveling and being away for several weeks. She stared down at his familiar face, and she was suddenly _home_.

His pale lashes rested against the very top of his hollow cheeks, lining his eyelids. Behind these eyelids, she knew, were eyes the color of snow-swollen clouds. Eyes that, when upon her, sent tingles all up and down her body (tingles that, she was sure, he was a stranger to). His grey eyes were the window to his true feelings, which were usually hidden so deep that he often fooled himself. Kate's only way of knowing what he meant when he said something was to look in his eyes and read whatever emotions bubbled up in the very depths of them. The last time she had seen those eyes, they were furious and cold; a fury and coldness that was aimed at her. As she remembered how dangerous he had appeared, anger and confusion blended in with the joy. How dare he accuse her of being a whore, of being as worthless, of being a bastard-child! He had accused her falsely and unjustly, with no proof or right to do so! But the main offense came that he had the nerve to even consider that she would have so little pride and strength that she would take his insults lying down.

She was surprised to find herself, therefore, gazing at his lips, with completely different thoughts and emotions coursing through her. They – his lips – were parted slightly, just enough to blow out his breath in an exhale. A shiver of delight rolled through Kate then. What she wouldn't give to touch those lips with her own, to have them caress hers back with want and need…

But before her heart could begin any fantasy, her conscience exploded back into its loud and obnoxious self, radiating anger and irritation through her. What was wrong with her? She was a powerful tigress, not a vulnerable doe. She lived an ambush to her home village, had fought off one of the most powerful wizards who wielded a wand, endured weeks of torture and lived when everyone believed her to be dead. She was living in a world that was determined to destroy any persons who were different then themselves. She was like a mustang – unwanted and fighting to survive. She was surviving, wasn't she? She had not given up yet. Well, she was fighting hard enough then, and would keep on fighting. Was she going to let one teenage boy tame her, master her? He was barely a year older than she was. Was she going to allow this pale boy to do what everyone had failed to do: to catch her, break her, and teach her the strict rules and silent manners that fence a pleasure riding horse?

No; she wouldn't.

Her mind replayed snippets of their last conversation, paired with grossly distorted images of herself appealing to his every whim.

No. She would not allow him to tame her. She would not allow this one small weakness to grow and consume her. She was a fighter, and would follow her own course.

With that straightened out, she glanced back down at the boy with a hard expression on her face. Then she turned back into a human, and walked with her head held high and her back straight, the picture of confidence, out of the Slytherin dormitory, vowing never to let Draco Malfoy be the rider of her Mustang spirit.

*** *** ***

Draco sat in the library, several books on Animagi and Metamorphmagi opened and spread out in front of him. He stared at the text without reading, his head resting on his palm. It was Thursday, which meant he only had three classes. They were, however, the toughest classes in his timetable. He was grateful for his free period, which he was currently in, and in desperate need to finish homework. But after this period, he had Amycus Carrow for Defense Against the Dark Arts, followed by Transfiguration with McGonagall. To top it all off, he ended his day with Amycus Carrow's sister, Alecto, with Muggle Studies.

He blinked several times to focus his eyes and his mind. While he had gotten breakfast this morning, he had not been able to sleep very well. Theodore had returned at just past two in the morning, quite alone. Draco had been unable to fall asleep before then; when he finally did, it was fitfully, as the recurring nightmare was now taking new twists. Last night, it had started off with him wandering through Diagon and Knockturn Alley. He could hear her screaming, could hear her crying out to him, but no matter where he looked or how hard he ran, he could not find her, until finally he took a wrong turn and the brick streets gave out to a raging storm in the middle of the ocean.

The thud of a book crashing onto the floor interrupted him from his thoughts. Craning his head, Draco saw that it was only a sixth-year Ravenclaw in the rows of books before him, who had dropped a massive book on venomous plants. One glance at her face told him that he wasn't the only one getting an inadequate amount of sleep.

Yawning slightly, he rubbed his eyes with the butt of his palms. He guessed that he had about half-an-hour left of the free period. Groaning slightly, Draco forced himself to focus on his essay for Transfiguration. He had to compare and contrast all aspects of Animagi and Metamorphmagi. It was April 27; the exams were only three weeks away, and teachers were loading students up with work on all topics of the particular subject. Everything that had been taught since their first year was now being reviewed and tested. All seventh-years were stressed out, most were falling; few were thriving.

Draco dipped his quill into his ink bottle, scribbling the last twelve inches. He calculated that he would need about eight inches to summarize his essay in a concluding fashion, which meant that he only needed to expand his last paragraph by four inches. He decided to include statistics of the frequency of any witch or wizard you pass on the street being an Animagus or Metamorphmagus. Although the procedure to be an Animagi was extremely difficult and dangerous, Metamorphmagi were a rarity – one had about the same chances of being Metamorphmagus as one did of being albino. However, the ability to change your features was a gene that could be passed down from parent to child; thus, a Metamorphmagus would have a higher chance of producing a Metamorphmagus child. With an Animagus, it did not matter; the difficulty of the potion and spell did not get any easier, no matter how many generations of Animagi one had in the family.

Draco set his quill aside, content with his progress and finished essay. It wasn't happiness, and it did not break his dazed and dismal mood. It was the sense of accomplishing what he did not truly believe he could accomplish; the sense of dim satisfaction and contentment that shined through his gloomy mood just enough to lighten his heart for a moment.

A glance to his left showed that the Ravenclaw girl was scribbling madly on a long sheet of parchment, with an old book opened on her lap. She was immersed in her work, her brow furrowed in worry and concentration. She, too, was scrambling to finish homework. It was impossible to do it all in the evening! He had six classes, and each teacher gave them homework as if they had all the time in the world. There were essays, analyses, diagrams, FRQ's. All the teachers were giving a combination of at least two of these things; tougher teachers, like Professor McGonagall and Amycus Carrow, gave three or four assignments a class.

Draco groaned silently, squeezing his eyes shut. It was so much bloody _work_, without so much as a "good job" or "well done". No rewards for the never-ending flow of schoolwork. Draco shifted through several books he had picked out, pushing those on the witch hunts of the seventeenth and eighteenth century away. Muggles Studies was at the end of the day, after a study period; he could do the FRQ for Muggle Studies then. He reached for _Banned Treasure: Merlin's Library of Hexes_, which had a list of old Dark jinxes and hexes that had long been banned from use in the wizarding world. He had about seven more hexes he had to add onto his chart for Defense Against the Dark Arts, and this book had it all. They were horrible spells; it was no wonder they were banned from use in the 1600s. Most of them had no counter-spell or remedy, which doomed to victim to several weeks of unbearable pain before the hex wore off or, in some cases, drove the victim to commit suicide.

Dumbledore, of course, would never have allowed these types of books. _Banned Treasure: Merlin's Library of Hexes_ would never have even made it back onto the back corner of the shelves of the Restricted Section. But of course, having Death Eaters impenetrate the school meant a vastly new regime. Draco had thought he would have liked it. He had complained about how soft and sheltering Dumbledore was. But seeing what horrors the books held, and having been forced to read and study them, he found them repulsive, and had a great desire to store them wherever they had previously been hidden by Dumbledore.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he finished describing the last hex. Draco slammed the book shut, flicking his wand at it to send it zooming back to its proper location on a bookshelf across the room. He gathered his papers, laying them neatly into his bag so that they would not crumble. His eyelids felt heavy, closing of their own accord. But he had to stay awake – the day had barely begun! As he slung his bag over his shoulder and tucked his book sunder his arm, he noticed that the sixth-year Ravenclaw had not moved from where she sat. Her nose was just inches off the paper, and she appeared to be ready to cry. She gave Draco no notice as he walked by her and exited the library, heading to Defense Against the Dark Arts, down in the dungeons.

It wasn't much condolence, but at least he was better off than she was.

*** *** ***

Draco had Transfiguration after lunch. This was where he was now, with half an hour left. He could not wait for it to pass. The day seemed longer than usual; time was passing slower than a mountain troll's brain. He felt stuck, trapped, in his life. What was there to live for? He didn't know. There didn't seem to be a point for his existence. What did it matter, passing the N.E.W.T.'s or memorizing all of this stuff? What was the reason behind it, when it wasn't getting him anywhere in life? With each minute, it became more apparent to Draco that life was a problem without a solution.

Not that he felt like taking his life. Death was not an answer he was searching for, or one he would accept. But he was lacking an answer, a reason, to keep going and living this nightmare. Some people said that life had many answers. But he couldn't figure out a single one. Or maybe he had found the answer, and he had let it slip through his fingers. Maybe he had found the reason, but it had faded away, now lost to him forever.

Draco's eyes glazed over the giant black board in the front of the classroom where a piece of chalk, charmed by McGonagall to take notes on what she was lecturing, was drawing out a chart on basic Transfiguration spells and charms, their results, and counter-spell. He was not, however, truly focusing on McGonagall's review. He had a roll of parchment before him, and his quill was tucked into his hand, but the two had not yet met. With his current train of thought, he was having a hard time motivating himself to jot anything down. After all, what was the point?

Draco rubbed his eyes, and swallowed back his frustration and helplessness. How long could he tolerate this? How long could he keep up not sleeping, not caring? His life seemed so dismal, so bleak, so pointless. He was alive, but completely void of life from within.

There was suddenly lots of bustling in the classroom. Looking around blankly, Draco realized that everyone was packing up; class was dismissed. As this observation finally made registered in his head, he placed two hands on the table to push back his chair. He stopped as Daphne Greengrass placed a hand on his shoulder, alerting him that she was behind him. She didn't glance his way, just made a bee-line for the exit, falling into step with Tracey Davis.

Sighing, Draco rolled up his parchment. His movements were sluggish, slow. He had a study period next, but he really had no desire to go to the Great Hall to accomplish nothing. He tucked his quill into his bag, dimly taking care that he laid it flat against his textbook. As he made his way around the desks, his eyes landed on the huge window. The blue sky was slashed with grey clouds. Soaring away from the castle was a lone swallow. It gave a soft, woeful note before dipping out of sight. Draco left the classroom in a somber mood, matching the sorrowful song of the swallow.

*** *** ***

Draco leaped from the last step to the landing on the seventh floor. The Grand Staircase, infamous for changing right when you needed them, had begun to alternate. It nicked his left heel, and Draco threw a scowl over his shoulder at it.

_Stupid stairs_, he thought.

It was just about time for dinner. There were no students wandering about now. Peeves the Poltergeist had been lurking about down on the fourth floor, so Draco knew he didn't have to worry about him either.

He walked down the deserted corridor until he reached the huge tapestry of some guy (something the Barmy was his name) teaching trolls to dance a ballet. It was quite an amusing tapestry. But it was not the art that Draco was interested in. Opposite the giant tapestry was a blank stone wall. A small smile crept into Draco's lips. He had not been here since the end of last year. He had thought that it would bring back a series of unwanted memories that he had pushed so down deep within himself that he had forgotten some.

But here he was, standing before the entrance, and instead of feeling on edge, he was comforted. He had lived here all last year, struggling endlessly to mend the Vanishing Cabinet whose sister laid in Burgin & Burkes. He had shed sweat, tears and joy here in this room. It was the only part of Hogwarts that seemed to understand him, that attempted to help him.

Draco paced back and forth confidently across the secret entrance of the Room of Requirement, asking from it to give him a place that he can be alone, where he could just sit all night by himself, without having to worry about anything or anyone else. He wouldn't mind having something else that was broken, either. It helped pass the time, giving effort to an object that was broken.

Draco looked up at the wall, expecting the go in and just hide away for a while. But to his surprise, no door appeared. This confused him; the Room of Requirement had ne4ver failed him before. He knew how to work the Room, he knew how to state things to eliminate loopholes. So why wasn't it working now? He walked down the corridor three more times, forcefully thinking exactly what he wanted, what he needed, what he required. But to his dismay, no entrance appeared.

He checked the tapestry once more. Surely he was in the right place? And he was; this was _exactly _where the secret door of the Room should be appearing. He attempted twice more to get the Room to work for him, to let him enter, restating his wish in any form he could think of. Yet even after his fifth try, the blank stone wall remained a blank stone wall.

In despair, Draco turned away, feeling rejected. Even Hogwarts had turned its back on him. He was truly alone.

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**alright, so i told you it was crap compared ot the others. but deal. lol. i would still love reviews and comments tho. maybe one of you has an idea on how to evolve this a bit better (dont change the story line tho). um...oh, we are never going to truly find out in this story, its just going to be one of those mysteries that never got answered, but the Room of Requirement isnt opening because Neville and company is in there. just so you guys are not like o.O**

**so yea, review, and please note that lots of hw and schoolwork keeps me from being creative.**

**does anyone know when HP6 movie comes out in dvd in america??? :)**

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	12. Chapter 12

**ok, so today was no school, so i was able to get this down on paper...well screen actually. lol hope you all enjoy, i'm trying to stay focused and not lose interest in this.**

**i want to thank _saralestrange980_** **for favoriting this. and also and huge thanks to _DayDreamBabyBee_ for favoriting, alerting and reviewing this story. honestly, i started writing chapter 12 because of you. i was not really in the mood to write, and i was not feeling this story at all. and then i got your review, which i cant believe you reviewed, since i haven't uploaded in forever and you must have had to dig through pages of stories before getting to mine. and you read all 11 chapters!! :D yea you totally made my day and i really thank you for making me get up off my butte and finish writing this.**

**J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters. Kate is mine and also the personalities of many of Rowling's characers.**

**enjoy! :)**

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Friday

Kate darted through the corridor. She knew she didn't have much time to get to them, to alert them with enough time for them to escape. She sprinted down the corridor in the form of a serval, achieving great speed and still retaining the silence of the deserted hallway. These parts of the dungeons were used only for harsh punishment. If they were caught, they would feel that punishment come down even sharper.

The serval dashed through the rooms, squeezing through steel bars and cracks in the wall, her cat eyes taken in every detail of the dismal dungeons without difficulty. But every room was empty, every cell vacant of living bodies.

A cough suddenly echoed through the stone cells, followed by a girl's sharp hushing. Kate rushed forward, ears pricked forward, twisting her way through the cells. Finally, she found them. Huddled in the corner of a large cell, two girls were tapping what seemed to be black ropes that were wrapped around a younger boy's leg. The boy had large eyes that were red and puffy from crying. His round face was streaked with tears, and he was trembling from cold and fear. His dark brown hair was uncombed and clung to his forehead. The girls were older than him, though they too were young, and shared his dark hair and fair complexion. Kate knew the three to be siblings. The eldest was progressing with the ropes a lot faster than her younger sister, who did not know enough spells to cut the enchanted ropes efficiently.

Kate shifted into a terrier. This was how she appeared to the eldest, so this was how she must alert them. Kate stepped into the damp cell, her nails clicking on the stone floor. They _had_ to hurry up!

As soon as they heard the nails clicking on the floor, the girls' head shot up to see who had entered, identical looks of terror on their faces. The boy gave a small whimper of pain and fear, eyes round and uncertain. Confusion flickered through the eldest's face, and then finally recognition, but uncertainty, as she remembered Kate's terrier form from her last excursion. Yet she held back, not sure whether the terrier that had helped her out three nights ago was friend or foe tonight. The young boy did not blink, regarding Kate with fear, as the younger sister pointed a shaking wand at the little terrier. Kate lowered her head, wagging her tail, desperately trying to become accepted by the girl, while her mind was racing, knowing that trouble was on its way.

Come on, she thought. Come on, I'm you friend. Just lower your wand and we can get out of here and your little brother won't be in any more trouble.

Then older girl knelt on the floor, wand hand relaxed at her side, free hand out, reaching towards Kate.

"Easy, girl. Here, girl." She whispered, smooching. Kate, not going to waste an opportunity like this, trotted over to the extended hand, licking the hand, arm and face, instantly convincing all three siblings that she was friend. The oldest girl smiled as the terrier placed two front paws on her knees. "Come to help me out again?"

Kate gave a tiny bark, pressing her nose into the girl's hand before bounding over to the boy who was stilled strapped, then rushing over to the entrance of the cell. She repeated this pattern a second time, frantically wishing them to hurry up. It seemed like forever before the younger sister understood.

"We need to hurry up." She whispered to her sister. Kate wagged her tail, but both sisters were already rushing to release their brother at a faster pace. Kate the terrier trotted out of the cell, running along the stone walls. No one was here yet, but they would be soon. She didn't know how much time the trio had before the alerted professors would be upon them. For the moment, the dungeons were deserted and quiet, and if the siblings wanted to make it out safely, they would have to move out quick.

She was heading back to the cell where the young boy has strapped when the group of three stumbled around the corner, eyes wide and alert, the little boy finally free from the enchanted ropes. Kate barked at them, swinging around so that she was now directly behind them, nipping at the boy's heels to make him move just a bit faster. When he complied to her command, whimpering a bit, she rushed ahead of them, leading them through the corridors. The damp, dark, dungeon cells flashed by beside her as she darted through. To her ears, it seemed they were making too much noise. Her terrier nails clicked rhythmically against the floor, and the students behind her were panting and whispering words of encouragement to each other. They would be easy target when the teachers made their way down here; there was a reason deer were quiet when rushing to escape a hungry lion.

The terrier flicked one ear back as she heard one of them stumble from behind her, but she didn't stop until she had reached the end of the twisting corridor, where it merged with the main corridor. They were almost out! If they could just reach the stairs in time, and make it to the ground floor, there would be plenty of space and places to hide. Down here, there was only one way in and out. Down here in the dungeons, it was far too easy to be trapped in a cell, or a dead-end corridor.

A glance over her shoulder let her know that the dark-haired siblings were once again moving, and so Kate rushed out onto the main corridor, onto the stairs. If the way was clear, the siblings would be out of harm's way. They would still have to make their way to their House common rooms, but the difficult part would be over.

Kate was halfway up the stairs when she heard them: the pounding a feet running towards the stairs from the floor above, a harsh male voice growing louder as his feet carried him and his companion ever closer to the dungeons. Kate rushed back down the stairs, ears pricked and alert. She nearly collided with the trio at the mouth the narrower corridor. She yelped at them, trotting to the right, the opposite direction of where she hoped the teachers would go. If the boy was hidden towards the left of the dungeons, Kate guessed, and hoped, that they would rush to the left, to verify that he had escaped. But they would not need to go to the cell where he had been left if they all did not _get out of the way_!

She barked at them once more, insistent. They took several, slow steps toward her, confused: why would they go to the right, when the stairs – and the way out - was straight ahead? The younger sister glanced questioningly at her older sister, while the boy glanced around, terrified. Then all three suddenly froze, terrified, glancing in the direction o the stairs. They heard the danger now, the approaching voices. Kate growled softly at them, pointing with her nose a small room that was dark. It smelled of something she could not name, but it would do until they could rush out, just long enough to be out of sight.

The boy squeezed in between the gapping wire door first, followed closely by his sisters. Kate could smell the fear rolling off them, and was grateful that humans did not have an acute sense of smell. The siblings huddled in the darkest corner, arms wrapped around each other as they sat still, ears straining to hear. They had barely been sitting for seven seconds before their pursuers reached the first dungeon floor. Kate peeked around the entrance of small damp room. Two figures, a male and a female, were coming down the main corridor. They were short and stubby, familiar to her as the professors who spent most of their time trying their hardest to get students in trouble. They were bickering loudly and, as Kate had predicted, turned to the right, to see if their prisoner had managed to escape. When their voices faded, Kate poked her head back into the room.

"Is it safe to go out?" The boy whispered. They were untangling themselves from each other, leaning forward in anticipation. Kate yelped softly before jogging out onto the main corridor of the dungeons. The way was clear, but if they planned on making it back to their common rooms, they still had to move quickly. The siblings cast anxious glances in all directions, freezing at any sound, but finally reached the stairs. Kate hopped up the stairs, a little ways ahead of them. All was well, and they only had one pair of stairs left until they reached the ground floor. Kate kicked out her haunches sharply, skipping over one of the steps that she knew to be extremely creaky. She reached the landing, pausing to glance over her shoulder to check on their progress. The younger sister took a giant step to avoid the creaky step. Kate looked back to the looming pair of stairs. She could see the glow of dim lights from where the dark stairs spilled onto the ground floor.

She was making her way up the second pair of stairs when she heard a screech from behind her. Ears pricked, heart racing, Kate launched herself off the stairs, stumbling a bit as she landed on the plateau of the stairs. For a split second, she thought that the stumpy teachers had returned. But there was no one behind the three siblings. The younger sister had reached the landing, and the older sister was still behind their brother, face scrunched up. The boy was looking apologetic and fearful. He had stepped right onto the creaky step.

"Way to go Marcus!" the younger sister hissed from the landing. "If we get caught, it's all going to be your fault."

"Bri, leave him alone. Keep going!" The older one hissed back, pushing the boy on. She took care to step over the screeching step, keeping close to her little brother. The younger sister passed Kate to climb the second pair of stairs. Kate waited until the boy and his oldest sister had pushed passed her as well. With all of them focused on climbing this last set of steps without a ruckus, Kate transformed into a cat. With eyes shaped especially to see in the dark, she was able to make sure that the teachers had not come back for them. All was quiet back down in the dungeons – for now. Breathing a sigh of relief, Kate shifted back into a terrier and trotted up the stairs after the three.

All four cast glances around the ground floor, hesitant to step out. The spacious hallway seemed deserted, quiet. Slowly, the sisters stepped out of the stairwell, followed closely by their brother. The terrier walked a hair's width in front of the youngest sister, ears alert for any sound.

And then she smelled it: the musky scent of a cat edging towards them. The terrier came to a stop, ears pricked, sniffing. From behind one of the statues came a scruffy, dark she-cat. Kate knew her; she was bonded to one of the school staff. He was not very pleasant, and she, as his cat, gave him her faith and loyalty. She would not allow this group of students to go undetected, not even if Kate asked her nicely.

"It's Mrs. Norris!" the younger sister whispered, pointing to where the cat was now drifting towards them, alerting her siblings to the intruder.

"Mr. Filch won't be far behind." The boy whispered in a shaky voice.

Kate growled at the cat warningly. Kate understood the she-cat's position, but she could not allow her human to be alerted to their presence. The cat twitched the tip of her tail, before opening her mouth to let out a loud meow. Kate lunged at the cat, growling. As a terrier, she was the same size as the she-cat, and had no advantage. But she could not shift into a larger form until the students were out of sight.

The siblings raced in the opposite direction, taking advantage of the distraction. They were no longer taking care to keep their steps quiet, but rushing headlong to their dormitories.

The scruffy she-cat puffed out, hissing. She seemed to know that a fight between the terrier and herself would result in the cat coming out the stronger. Kate chuckled to herself, as she used her magic for selfish gain. As she leaped into the air towards the she-cat, who was crouching on the floor with nails unsheathed, she shifted into a Doberman.

The scruffy she-cat scurried away in fright, Kate in chase as a Doberman. Now that she was no longer a small dog, she had the upper hand. Her previous fears escaped her as she stretched her legs. She was not so much as chasing the cat as just following her through the corridors. Up ahead, her human was staggering towards them. He began to shout when he saw the large black dog chasing his beloved cat. For a second, Kate was worried, wondering if he would attack her with magic. But he never reached for his wand, and so she pushed on. The cat raced passed him, too frightened to stop, and as Kate brushed passed him, the old man pointed his finger in her direction, yelling profanities.

Kate laughed to herself, playfully nipping the cat's tail to speed the feline up. She was getting a thrill at racing through the castle, and the students would get a kick at this tale when word got around the castle in the morning.

*** *** ***

Everyone was recounting their version of the occurrence at lunch.

"No one knows where the dog came from-"

"Carrow wasn't teaching Muggle Studies today, I think the dog got her too-"

"The dog almost ate Mrs. Norris! That's why Filch is looking so scary…"

"The dog _did_ eat Mrs. Norris, and good for us that it did-"

"Katherine cast the dog, she's a very powerful witch-"

"No, the dog was a phantom. It must be part of the Headless Hunt-"

"No, it was a dog that was part troll. Did you see how big it was? It was huge!"

The tales were getting taller as the day went on, but Draco knew for certain that the phantom dog did not eat either Mrs. Norris or Alecto Carrow. The former was huddled in the broom closet, and the latter was in an ugly mood and had taken up patrolling the corridors of the castle, searching for students to put in detention. This was not the only part of the students' tales that was faulty. But no one cared whether the stories fit together or not. Marcus Tipp from Hufflepuff had been broken out of the dungeons, and while everyone knew it was his older sisters, Katherine, a fifth-year Gryffindor, and Brigitte, a third-year Ravenclaw, who had broken him out, the Carrows had no way of proving this. In addition, Mrs. Norris had finally been attacked and gotten what every student had wanted to do since first-year. Both events were enough to excite the students, who hated Mr. Filch and despised the Carrows. The teachers were not cooperating in making sense of last night's events, and Draco was quite sure that they were encouraging the rumors.

But Draco had neither the energy nor the interest in knowing what exactly happened last night. He had not slept very well last night, staying up doing homework for all of his classes. They were not lightening the load, but perhaps making it even heavier. Besides staying up for school work, he did not look forward to sleep. She kept appearing in his dreams, and he did not appreciate it.

He poked at his lunch, chewing and swallowing but not tasting and enjoying his meal. The food was like cardboard going down his throat. He wanted to run. He wanted to fly, to sweat, to feel like he was getting somewhere. He desperately wanted some alone time in the air.

Why couldn't he? The thought came to him in midchew. It was lunch, and he had a break afterward. Why couldn't he just go get his broom, and fly around on the Quidditch pitch? He was the Slytherin team captain, a seventh year, and it was not as if he was trying to fly away from Hogwarts. Who cared if he got caught? There was no school rule that said students could not fly during breaks.

He made up his mind. Draco stuffed a spoonful of food into his mouth before rising from the table and exiting. He stared straight ahead, focused. He would go to the common room, grab his broom, and the go to the Quidditch pitch. He would not talk to anyone; the quicker he got his broom, the longer he could fly.

No one was on the Quidditch pitch. It was just him, his Nimbus Two-thousand-and-one, and the warm spring breeze. Draco took a deep breath before straddling his broom. Then he kicked off – hard – and soared into the air. For several minutes he just hovered in the air, enjoying the feeling of being off the ground. Then he tilted his broom up, and zoomed towards the sky.

It was the most wonderful feeling. He was going so fast, so high. The air was much colder above the castle than it was on the ground. He pressed broom forwards, asking for more speed. The wind pressed against his chest, but he fought it. As long as he was up here, he was free of his troubles. As long as he was zooming around, he could out-fly his troubles any day.

Breathing heavily, Draco brought his broom to a halt. He was much higher than the North Tower now. Looking down, he could see a patch of light green that was the pitch, and a darker green that was the forest. From his view, it seemed as if the Dark Forest was creeping up on the castle, closing in to gradually consume the school. The lake was the only thing that could keep those towering trees away.

A figure lifted out from the Dark Forest. Draco frowned as he recognized it as a Thestral. Its bat-like wings were stretched out, soaring on the breeze. Contrary to its connotation, it was quite graceful. But seeing Thestrals just reminded Draco of all the death he had seen, and that was not something he wanted to linger on. So he brought his broom around, and zoomed off in the opposite direction as the lone Thestral.

He did not know the time, but he felt as if he should be going. Tilting his broom down, he spiraled around the castle, down onto the Quidditch pitch. Flying really was quite simple; he did not understand why some students found it so difficult. When his feet touched the ground, he dismounted his broom, wiping the sweat that clung to his forehead with the back of his hand. The breeze felt cool now that he was damp with sweat from flying around the Hogwarts grounds, but this did not faze him. He felt content now that he had released some physical energy.

"Don't you have studying to do, Mr. Malfoy? Not that you don't fly well, of course." Draco spun around, alert, taken fully by surprise. Professor Slughorn was lumbering into the pitch. He did not know what the professor wanted, but Slughorn didn't appear to be mad.

"I was just…practicing I guess. It's a good day, Professor, and…well, I guess I didn't want to be inside." Draco replied. He was quiet as Slughorn studied him. Finally the old man nodded.

"Yes, I suppose I see what you mean." His eyes shifted to Draco's broom. "May I?" Draco remained silent but handed over his broom, not sure where this conversation was going. "The whole team has these brooms yes?" Draco nodded. "A gift from your father, am I right?" Draco jerked his head yes. He did not like the way that Slughorn was studying him, as if he were reading him. If Slughorn's intent was to punish him, couldn't he just get it over with?

"And what was you thinking of just flying around in the middle of a school day? Ain't there no rules to say that students should be studying?" A loud obnoxious voice called out. Draco looked over Slughorn's shoulder and groaned. It was Amycus Carrow, coming to make things worse. Slughorn heaved a great sigh, and Draco's heart rose as he realized that Slughorn did not seem to be pleased that one of the Carrows was here. Maybe he would get off easy.

"Or maybe… maybe you was trying to escape?" Amycus had reached the teacher and student, and was sneering nastily at Draco.

"Professor, you know I wasn't, all I was doing-"

"I doubt Mr. Malfoy was running away, Amycus. If he had, he would not have dropped by for this chat. But I was just telling young Malfoy here the same thing. As a seventh-year and a Prefect, with N.E.W.T.'s coming up, he should be studying, not frolicking around on a broomstick."

"Should get his broom confiscated, he should. Give it to me, Slughorn, I'll keep it nice and safe in my office." Amycus extended a stubby hand at Slughorn, eyes jeering at Draco, who was filled with rage at the injustice of this.

"It's alright, Amycus, I was handling this. I will keep it in my office until I feel Draco here has earned the right to have it back."

"And why should you get to keep it?" Amycus demanded.

"Because I'm his Head of House is why." Slughorn snapped, and with that he snatched the broom out of Amycus's grip, turned his heel, and returned back into the school. Draco turned his eyes back on the Death Eater, who sneered at the younger. But Draco sneered back, too upset to allow the stubby man to bully him. Amycus stepped to the side.

"After you, _Malfoy_." He mocked. Draco held Amycus's gaze for a second longer, before following Slughorn into the castle.

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**so, it's a relatively short chapter, and more for ppl who are interested in Kate. what you should have realized from this chapter is that Kate is helping other students with their rule-breaking - in other words she is getting sympathetic for Hogwartians.**

**next chapter is a quarter written already. please note that i might make it rated "m" once i post ch. 13. im not sure yet. i need to reread what i wrote. i don't think its "m", but i dont want to get in trouble for it. what do you all think? safe or just go with my personal judgment?**

**remember to review! please please please review, even to critique. i don't mind constructive critism. :)**


	13. Chapter 13

**So i was rereading what i had in this chapter, and i went over the ratings, and i realized that this def had to be rated m now. *sigh* oh well. anyways, hope you guys enjoy this chapter. im thinking there is going to be about 7 more chapters, so things are going to start happening soon. **

**thank you to _Leonora_ for reviewing, and _betholly_ for favoriting this. remember that J.K. Rowling gets credit for the books i am making a fanfic on. :)**

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__Saturday_

Draco is drowning once more, struggling to stay above the angry waters. He has visited these waters many times, and every time his head breaks the surface, he searches desperately for the stretch of land that he knows will end the storm and bring him calmness. The stretch of land that a lone figure strolls across, hair blowing in the wind, promising safety and peace.

His head broke the surface, and he coughed, the black waters churning around him, his hair matted against his head. They are heavy hands that push him down and back, away from the shore, away from safety. His lungs strain from the lack of oxygen. Everywhere there is black, everywhere there is water. He loses track of direction, and as he struggles to determine which way is surface, panic sets in. He needs surface! But which way, which way! There is no light, no way out. All the while, Draco is beating his legs furiously, keeping his mouth closed, and his lungs are screaming, ready to burst.

Involuntarily, his mouth opens, gasping, trying to take in a gulp of air. But water rushes in, and he is coughing and sputtering, choking. Panic has gripped him around the throat. All reasonable thought is lost, as instinct and fright take over. Find surface, find surface!

His head breaks surface, and he gags, coughing up water, gasping for breath. Draco blinks and searches for shore. His heart speeds up when he cannot find it. But no! It must be here, it must, for it cannot go away! Without it, he is lost, hopeless, dead. Surely it could not have just disappeared.

He spots it at last! His mind registers that it is closer than before. But relief is short lived as another wave of angrily churning water pushes him under once more. This time, he keeps himself upright, so that two strong kicks propel him up and to the surface once more. When he finds land, he consciously realizes that it is closer – much closer. The waters have calmed just a bit, and he bobs just at the surface, watching as the strip of land creeps closer, closer, closer…

A lone figure dances across the shore. She faces the waters, watching with a pair of big eyes, waiting. Her honey-brown hair hangs down her back, twirling in the breeze. She waits on the shore, waiting to bring him home. Home.

Draco opened his eyes groggily. He glanced around with half-opened eyes. He sighed in relief when he recognized the Slytherin dormitory. _Just a dream_. Draco turned over onto his side, blinking to keep his eyes open. All was quiet and still in the dormitory. His lungs and legs ached, and he wondered if in his sleep he held his breath.

Draco let his eyelids close, but instantly regrets doing so. The figure that had walked the shore of his nightmares dances across them. Draco had lived this nightmare every night, but never had the figure been so clear, so undeniable. But, unlike in the nightmare, she did not convey calm and belonging. It hurt to think of her, to think her name.

_Kate._

For that was who it was. Draco squeezed his eyes, drowning himself in darkness, trying to ignore the pain tearing at his heart. This was proof that divination was utter hippogriff shit. The interpretation of his dream would be that Kate was what would bring him peace. But how could something that hurt so much ever bring harmony?

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It was during lunch that Draco remembered that Professor Slughorn had confiscated his broom. He sat alone, in a discrete corner of one of the courtyards of the castle. He had not felt like talking to anyone. Tension was beginning to run high throughout all the residents at Hogwarts. Something was going to happen – everyone could sense it. It did not have a name, but everyone – staff and students – knew that something big was going to occur. There was less bickering and quarreling within Houses, as students began to rely on each other for reassurance and support. Suspicion, however, was increasing between students of separate Houses, and Draco understood what the Sorting Hat had meant when referring to the four Houses as deep division of Hogwarts.

These thoughts led him to think of Quidditch. It was much easier to calm jittery nerves after an intense two-hour practice. It would do him a world of good, and that would get his team under control. Draco had made up his mind to book the pitch for that afternoon, when he remembered that he was missing his Nimbus two thousand and one.

Grumbling, Draco glared into the sky. He did not think Slughorn would give him his broom after just one night. He could try to just butter the old professor up and talk him into handing the broom over, but Draco had neither the patience nor the energy to do so at the current moment. Instead, Draco decided to just take his broom while Slughorn was not looking. Draco guessed that his broom would be in Slughorn's office. The best time to sneak in would be during dinner, when all the students would be in the Great Hall, and Slughorn would be sure to be down with all the other professors eating. Things would prove much more difficult if Slughorn had laid enchantments around the broom to guard it against thievery. But deciding that it was best to try, Draco made plans to sneak over to the professor's office later that evening. And so, with plans to recover his broom, Draco left to go get some homework done.

*** *** ***

The door was slightly ajar, and he could hear shuffling inside. Draco frowned; who needed to get inside Slughorn's office so desperately that they had to sneak in during the one time Slughorn was sure to be out?

He tried to peak through the crack, put he could not see the figure. He held his breath, trying to be as quiet as possible, straining to hear the shuffling of feet, ruffling of papers, opening and closing of drawers, and the low frustrated muttering of whoever was inside. Draco placed a hand on the door, slowly pushing it open wider. The figure within was female, and had her back turned to him. She was bent over at the waist, at Slughorn's desk, completely absorbed with her search. Draco slipped inside the office, unnoticed. A glance around the room let him know that the room was empty besides himself and this girl, and that his broom, taken from him yesterday, was at the opposite end of the office from where he stood by the door. There was no way to get to his Nimbus two thousand and one without alerting the girl to his presence. He frowned as he studied the girl's back. She seemed of average height and weight, and long, straight hair ran down her back, a familiar honey-brown colour that sent shivers down his spine and his stomach racing.

"Kate." His throat was dry, and his heart was pumping. What were the odds that he had not seen her in a week and now that he was sneaking around he ran into her? What reasons did she have to still be in the castle instead of miles away?

He knew she recognized his voice. She straightened up, pausing a moment before turning around, slowly, slowly. Time seemed to drag out as boy and girl just stared at each other. Her face was as readable as ever. Her eyebrows were slightly raised, revealing that she was just as surprised to see him as he was to see her, and her deep brown eyes were glued to his face. Her mouth, however, was tight with anger, chin raised stubbornly and in defiance. Whatever was going to go on between them, she was not going to ease the awkwardness.

Draco composed his own complexion. He would not be as easy to read as she was right now. He knew how to mask his emotions well enough, even if she was usually capable of unraveling him. But he composed his face into a blank sheet, so that she would really have to work to read him. He contemplated speaking first, but decided to let her decide the terms of this surprise meeting; if she was going to swallow her pride and anger, then he would relax, but if she wanted a fight, then he would not back down – not to her.

It was then that he noticed the papers clasped in her hand. From where he stood, he could not make out what they said, but he could clearly see the Hogwarts symbol pressed into a circle of cooled red wax that marked these papers as Hogwarts documents. What the hell was she up to?

"What are you doing here?" She demanded before he could question her. He blinked at her, thrown off. What was _he_ doing _here_?

"I could ask you the same thing. _I_ go to school here don't I? _You_ don't," He said, pointing at her. "And _those_," he pointed to the papers in her hand, and something within him hissed triumphantly as she shifted to hide them from his view guiltily "are not yours. What do you need Hogwarts records for?"

"Mind your own business." She snapped, and her eyes sparkled dangerously as the anger reached them. But Draco was curious now, and far from minding his own business. Draco sidestepped, inching away from the door, keeping his attention on Kate while trying to get to his broom. Kate, missing nothing, eyed his small movement with narrowed lids suspiciously.

"Those papers _are_ my business. I'm a Prefect, and you are not only an intruder, but stealing official documents." Draco spoke coolly, collectively, watching her. She had shifted so that the papers were out of his view, angling her body to match his slight movement to the right. The curiosity was burning within him; what was so important about these documents that she stuck around for a week to search for them? The serpent within him stirred as Theodore Nott flashed into his mind. But Draco could not see how Kate and Theodore's relationship, and Theodore's recent behaviour, was related to these papers that Kate was so intent on keeping secret.

"Prefect?" Kate snorted. "You aren't here for any Prefect business, and I know it. You're snooping around, same as everyone else. And don't you be calling me out about being here. I was _invited_, remember?" She glared at him. Draco, irritated now, stared back coldly.

"Yeah, that was before. I'm pretty sure I told you to leave."

"No one tells _me_ what to do."

"Except Theodore Nott, huh? He holds your leash." What could have possible possessed him to say that, Draco did not know. But he was having a hard time keeping a hold on his anger, and blaming Theodore seemed like the most reasonable excuse.

Kate hissed at him – literally. She pulled back her lips and bared her teeth, uttering a threatening hiss. Her eyes glittered dangerously, like tiger eye, and her stance become more defensive. Surprised, Draco recoiled unconsciously; he cursed himself after the split second it took for him to realize his reaction. He hoped that in her anger she had not noticed his sign of weakness, but the smug, haughty smirk on her face proved otherwise.

Her haughty look did nothing to soothe the aggravated serpent within him. It hissed furiously in response, wanting to take a good snap at the wild cat standing before him. Draco was having a difficult time masking his emotions and keeping himself under control. The fury was bubbling up, and he stifled the urge to smack that smirk right off of Kate's face. He hated her! He didn't care how she had made him feel before, didn't remember how he had felt content and at ease with her once. All that seemed years ago. There was only here, and now, in Slughorn's office, where the anger was rolling off of them so that the room itself seemed to be sizzling. He hated her for invading his mind, his memories, and his emotions. He hated her for tricking him into trusting her. He hated her for being so defiant and different from anything he had none. He hated her for being the cause to all the added confusion he now had with himself.

"You insufferably, sanctimonious wand-bearer! I am not tied down to Theodore, nor will I ever be. And no matter how hard you try to insult Theo, I will _never_ be tied down to pathetic boy like you! Theo is thrice the man you are! He keeps his promises and treats other people like people, not like vermin! He doesn't cower away from danger or let his daddy do things for him-"

"Theodore is a Slytherin same as me, and when he's done sucking whatever advantage he gets from you, he'll leave you to rot on the side of Diagon Alley! You think he's so special, but he's not!"

"He's better than you! Keep talking shit about Theo, Draco, but it doesn't change that fact that you're scared, you have always been scared, and you will never _do_ anything with your life because you will always be hiding behind somebody else!"

"Shut up! Shut up, you filthy Mudblood!"

"Oh grow up!"

"I am grown up! I am not useless or pathetic! I was chosen by the Dark Lord to do the impossible. Me! I was chosen by him to be somebody, to do things, because he knew I could do it!"

"Oh, and that makes you a man, does it? Burning whole villages, wiping out a whole race of magical people, slaughtering non-magical people just because they are different from you?!" Her voice was increasing in pitch, her tone angrily hysterical. The image of her arrival at his house flicked into his mind, but he instantly pushed it away before he could feel remorse. "You tortured innocents! But I suppose it doesn't matter about how many you've killed or hurt, or how you've hurt yourself, because it makes you 'a man' and-" She paused, eyes on the wall just behind Draco's shoulder. He was so infuriated that he did even notice the slight frown on her face, or sense any danger at all. Taking advantage of her silence, he quickly snapped a response.

"I didn't do any of that! What happened to your lot was not my fault, nor will it ever be! But I am doing everything possible to keep myself _alive_ because in the end I am going to be here, with my family, and I don't care-"

"Be quiet for a minute." She snapped. The snaked within him snarled and spat.

"Don't tell me what to do, Kate. I don't listen to Mud-"

The look she gave him was venomous. He bit his lip to keep from screaming at her. He was so angry that his hands were shaking by his side; he curled them into tight fists, but they did not stop shaking.

He was surprised how unmoved he was when her ears grew into large saucer, thin and veiny above her head: bat ears. They flickered back and forth as she strained to catch whatever sound she had heard, her body still and poised in attentiveness. She frowned deeply, and brought her large brown eyes to Draco.

"We need to get out of here." She said shortly.

"Why?' Draco spat, not about to follow her like a tongue-lolling puppy. He suddenly sensed the danger, though he did not know what it was, and had a feeling that they should probably be leaving Slughorn's office. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that Kate, with her unnatural ability to tap into animalistic instinct would provide a greater advantage to not getting caught. The reasonable thing to do would be to calmly allow her to lead him out of harm's way. But challenging her was challenging her authority and therefore denying her any control over him, and in his current state, that was a priority.

Kate shot him a dark glare.

"Because the pot-bellied man is coming back. To his office. To _this_ office."

Draco sighed exasperatedly. He walked to the back of Slughorn's office, where his broom was propped up in the corner. He grabbed it, giving it a quick check-over to make sure it was in its proper condition. It appeared if all Slughorn had done was placed it out of the way; there were no spells or enchantments to protect it from being taken by a student.

When he turned, around, Kate was rearranging the contents of the drawer, and shutting it. He hurried after her as she slipped with the grace of a cat through the door, glancing around the corridor to be sure it was deserted. When she ducked into a small, unused classroomed, he followed her in, not really giving it a whole lot of thought.

The classroom was quiet, void of all movement and life. Kate stood glaring at him, papers clutched in one hand. The blonde boy eyed them, slowly leaning to prop his broom against the wall, out of the way. Curious, Draco crossed the space between them in one stride.

"Let me see the papers." He didn't wait for a response, but snatched them out of her hands. Only she was ready, her hand clenched on the sheets, crinkling them. Draco tried tugging them out of her reach by lifting them over his head, but she only stepped forward, keeping pace with the papers, all the while glaring and hissing at Draco as he glared back, infuriated at her defiance.

He wasn't sure who made the first move, but his lips were suddenly locked onto hers, her sweet scent filling his nose and brain. His tongue was battling hers in a dance for dominance, neither one wanting to back down, to let the other have control. His arms were around her waist, pulling her closer, until there wasn't even a breath of space between them. He could feel her arms snake around his neck, her nails scraping his scalp, crushing his mouth onto hers. She was intoxicating; the feel of her lips on his sent him a delighted frenzy. The great snake within him hissed in pleasure, appeased at long last.

But there was no denying the anger that was crackling between the pair of them. He refused to let her scent, the feel of her, get to him. He wanted to show her exactly what she was doing to him, how she was making him feel. The agony he suffered this week – that's what he wanted her to feel. He wanted to kiss her so hard that her lips would throb with the same ache he felt in his heart whenever he saw her with Theodore. He wanted to gain control of this girl, to tame the wild fire within her. He wanted to push her into the ground, to make her feel as inferior and worthless and weak as he had felt the whole week.

He glared down at Kate when he felt a sharp pain on his collarbone. He couldn't believe she had the audacity to bite him and demand his attention! How dare she try to get back in control again! Hadn't she had enough of it all week? Hadn't he been her puppet, her toy, for long enough? All week, he had thoughts only for her. But he would show her, he wouldn't let her bully him into this.

The anger flared, as he came resolved in his dealings with her. He _would_ prove to her that he was superior to her – in magic, in blood, in everything. He lowered his lips to hers again, this time demanding entrance. But she just smiled against his demands, taunting him. She seemed to know the turmoil that was going on within him, and was determined to see him to his own failure. At this realization, he became infuriated, and acted only on pride and anger. He bit her lower lip; hard enough so that she felt it, so that he drew a yelp from her lips. It made him smile, to know that he had hurt her, that he had shown her just how badly he had had it. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, and immediately dominated her tongue.

Her hands traveled down to his chest, dragging her nails over his shirt, which was now exposed due to the black school robe that had been discarded at the start. He shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold. A light purr came from her throat; he felt the vibrations against his tongue. Refusing to give her even the slightest satisfaction of having even a fraction of control, he grabbed her hands at the wrist, and twisting their stance. Now it was Kate pressed against the wall, her hands up against the wall by her head as Draco ravished her lips. He could feel her hot breath against his face, could hear the unison of their pants.

He hadn't even realized he had released her hands until his own were already roaming her body. But he needn't have worried – Kate had not even realized that her hands were freed. Or perhaps she had realized this fact, but had chosen to act against it. Either way, Draco was filled with increasing pleasure as she stood there, arching her back, allowing him to set the pace of the night. A light moaned escaped from her lips, and it was like he had been lit on fire. He wanted her to make that again, _needed_ for her to moan again. But even as he watched her face eagerly, she seemed to clamp her mouth shut, as if the moan had come out by mistake – a mistake she was not intending to make again.

Draco was still angry. But he was no longer acting on impulse. He needed to plan. His mouth left her lips, making its way down her neck. He wasn't slow and kind; the kisses he trailed down her neck were paired with nips, his teeth scraping over her soft skin with increasing strength. Making her feel physical pain made him feel better about how long he had to endure the pain in his heart all week. But she had about as much self-control as he did. When he reached the edge of her shirt, however, she gave a little gasp.

"Draco," she breathed. His spirits lifted immediately as she whimpered his name, but his pleasure was short-lived. Her arms had entwined around his neck, pulling him up and pushing them both away from the wall.

His eyes closed and their lips crashed, and once again the fight for dominance began. She was back to herself, refusing to be the weaker member, fighting to be master of the blonde Slytherin. He lost sense of his surroundings, he lost sense of time, he lost sense of pride. For Draco, all there was, was Kate.

He was thrown back into his surroundings as he fell forward. He released Kate's middle, throwing his hands out to protect himself and not land on top of her. They collided with something hard and cold. It was one of the tabletops of the desks in the classroom. Between his arms laid Kate, her honey hair fanned out around her on the desk, her brown eyes gleaming even in the darkness. Her skin shined with sweat, her chest heaving up and down, matching his own panting. Sometime during the fury of kisses, they had lost their clothes, the papers that had drawn them so close before had drifted to the floor, unnoticed, and they were both now lying on the desktop quite bare. He was blissfully aware of this when he suddenly felt his lower member throbbing against her heated opening.

Their eyes met, haughty, angry, and lustful. He smiled down at her, taunting, before pressing his lips to hers. But this time, he kissed her slow. He kissed her sweet. He kissed her like a lover.

He kissed her in a way he knew she would hate. She moaned, and the sound nearly drove him over insane.

"Draco." She whimpered. He shivered in delight; his name sounded like a prayer when it came from her. He opened his eyes, looking at her, triumphant in that he finally had the upper hand.

"Say it again." He whispered, his voice hoarse, husky.

But she would not give him anything. She pressed her lips together firmly, as if to deny any words from exiting. She rolled up into him – chest, stomach, hips. He knew what she wanted, what she was demanding. For a split second, he almost yielded to her request. A fire had consumed him, a need. Yes, he wanted this, would give it to her if that was what she asked for.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, restraining himself. No, he couldn't give in to her. It was what she wanted, and if he took her now, it would mean desperation and weakness on his part. She had not given him what he had wanted. And she would remember that he had given in to her demands. She would not forget. But he wanted to, so bad…

"Say my name," he whispered. "Say my name like I'm everything you could ever want."

Her eyes flashed open, and he was startled to see the fire behind them, so different from the pleading voice she had just used.

"Make me." She challenged.

And he did.

* * *

**well, hope you enjoyed. i took quite a bit of time on this last scene. lol. im happy with how it came out, so i hope you did too. remember to review! all constructive critism is appreciated. :) have a happy hannukah, merry christmas, and blesséd yule!**


	14. Chapter 14

**hello everyone! i know i haven't updated this fic in _forever_ but i had a bunch of ideas for my fic on the Black sisters, so i had to write them down and this story jsut got put on hold. but don't worry, i really do have every intention of finishing it. originally, this was going to be one chapter with the next chapter, but once i made it to 7000 words and i was no where near finishing, i decided to cut it into two. don't want you all to get overwhelmed. lol :)**

**thanks a bunch to _Akira loves slytherin pocky_, _Tasha27_, and _-Loves The Used-_ fro reviewing and subscribing, i really appreciate it. oh, and my sister, of course. :)**

**remember, i do not own the wonderful world of Harry Potter, J.K.R. does.**

**enjoy! :)**

* * *

Draco woke up for the first time that week fully rested. He was, he noted with surprise, strangely happy. He opened his eyes blearily. A wave of warmth flushed through his body as he recognized the figure lying beside him, curled up against his chest, honey-brown hair tickling his shoulders and neck. Carefully, slowly, he lifted one hand from her hip and gently stroked her hair. Kate stirred briefly, pressing herself closer to the warmth given off by his body, before settling into a quiet sleep once more.

The green curtains were drawn around his four-poster in the Slytherin dormitory, shielding them from the other five seventh-year Slytherin boys. As he lay in his bed, he could hear the snores of Goyle, and the light scratching of quill on parchment. Draco had no idea what time it was, though judging by the fact that Goyle was still asleep, he was sure that it could not be passed eleven o'clock; Goyle may oversleep past breakfast, but he _never_ missed the midday meal.

They had left that classroom late, scurrying to clothe themselves before returning to the Slytherin common room to finish the row they had started. But the conclusion never came; there was nothing more to say, nothing more to do, to demonstrate to the other the pain and anger that had filled the week when they had been ripped apart. And so Draco and Kate had established something short of friendship – more of mutual agreement that settled into a truce. Neither could forget what had occurred, but they could forgive.

The nightmare that had haunted his nights had not come this time, for which Draco was immensely relieved. The storm was over; he had reached the shore that he had yearned for so long. There, he had been greeted by the lone figure with the honey-brown hair and fiery brown eyes. The figure had not been a woman, as Draco had thought. She had been an angel, waiting for him, showing him the light at the end of the tunnel, proving to him that there was indeed a reason to keep fighting. And when he reached the shore, he had rested his head in the arms of the angel. She was not a typical angel – she had no wings, no gold halo that he could see. She was the kind of angel that could bring him home. Even during this time of turmoil and fear, even during this time in which there was no home because home had become a strange place where strangers dwelled; even during this time of which nothing was for certain, nothing was taken as the truth.

But Draco was sure of one thing: he would follow her wherever she went.

*** *** ***

There was a hushed excitement rippling through the Great Hall when Draco arrived for lunch. Students, no matter their year, were huddled together in groups, whispering elatedly to each other. Even the Slytherin table was buzzing with eagerness. Draco frowned as he found a spacious area on the Slytherin table, feeling discomfited as he attracted several stares from students, including those belonging to non-Slytherins. Draco reached for a roll of bread, glancing up at the teachers' long table. It appeared that the excited buzzing had infected the professors as well; they, too, were leaning in close to whisper news into another's ears, lips barely moving.

Draco knew at once that the gossip flying around the school held far greater importance than Mrs. Norris being chased by a mysterious dog (who he found out had, indeed, been Kate). If teachers deemed the news worthy enough of being exchanged among themselves, then it was, without a doubt, significant news. Had a student disappeared? But then, the atmosphere in the Great Hall would have been taut with fear and resentment, not excitement. And the Carrows would have been particularly sour and malicious. Draco craned his head now to glance at the Carrows, sure that they would look quite ugly with the whisperings and enthusiasm of the school. What he saw shocked him.

Truly puzzled now, Draco studied the Carrows. They did not look at all upset; on the contrary, they seemed just as animated and elated as the students of Hogwarts! What could have possible occurred that would have both the whole of Hogwarts and the Death Eaters so cheery this Sunday afternoon? And _why_ didn't Draco have a clue what was happening?

Just then, Amycus Carrow's gaze settled on Draco's. Draco gazed steadily back at the cold stare. At first, the squat Death Eater just stared at him, but then Amycus Carrow's face broke into a great, jaunting sneer. Unnerved, Draco blinked but did not look away until Amycus's attention was diverted to his sister. Draco's heart began to thump harder as he shifted to face his plate once more. Something had happened; something dire had happened, and he _had_ to find out what.

Getting up stiffly, Draco took a deep breath before going to sit farther down to the back of the table, where a slender figure sat, mahogany waves brushing the tabletop as she leaned across the table towards her friend, chattering with the same hushed excitement that was pulsing through the school. Her hazel eyes remained intent on her friend until Draco came to a rest by her shoulder, his robe brushing her arm. She looked up at him.

"Do you mind?" He indicated the empty place beside her.

Tracey hesitated, but shrugged, giving a tiny half-smile uncertainly. Draco was quiet as he lowered himself beside her, and did not miss the flicker of puzzlement that was exchanged between Tracey and Daphne. He was aware not only of the intensity, but the guardedness, of the focus of the pairs of hazel and green eyes.

"What's up, Draco?" Daphne broke through the slight tension first, propping her elbows on the table and lacing her fingers together, leaning her head on them. When a loose chocolate curl fell into her face, she blew it back; her green eyes, however, never left Draco's face.

"I was wondering," Draco said slowly. "If you knew what all the talk was about."

Tracey and Daphne exchanged looks again, and Draco's heart sank. Whatever it was, it was bad; why else wouldn't two girls be eager to fill him in?

Tracey paused, but the smallest of nods from Daphne prompted her to begin.

"Potter has been spotted." She stated hesitantly. Draco blinked, puzzled, but kept his face smooth and emotionless. With another swift glance at Daphne, the Head Girl continued.

"There's talk that Granger and Weasley may have been spotted as well. Not far from here either."

"Where were they seen?" Draco forced his voice to come out indifferent, with just a touch of curiosity.

"Gringotts." Tracey answered, and now Draco was completely confused. Gringotts was located in Diagon Alley; there was no way that Potter could have come anywhere near Gringotts without being seen. At some point, going in or out, he would most certainly have been caught and taken to the Dark Lord.

"Word is that he stole a dragon and used it to escape." Daphne added before Draco could ask anything. "You know how the older, more valuable vaults have extra protection?" Oh, Draco knew all right. He had been hearing rumours of exactly what curses and traps were set to protect the deeper vaults for years. The vaults located at the deepest level of Gringotts were not only the largest, but also the most protected, and happened to be where all his family vaults were located: the Lestranges, the Malfoys, and (the oldest and grandest of them all) the Blacks.

But what was the significance of all this?

"But what was Potter doing at Gringotts? I'm sure he wasn't doing any early Christmas shopping." Draco's gaze bounced from Tracey to Daphne. There was no denying the heavy reluctance of the girls now, which made Draco all the more anxious for the answer.

"Well, no, not Christmas shopping. He broke into the Lestranges' vault." Tracey informed him slowly, cautiously. Draco stared at her, dumbfounded. He didn't blink, didn't move, heard the words but could not understand their meaning.

"They…how did Potter and Weasley get into Au- the Lestrange's vault?" He asked stiffly.

"No one knows how they did it." Tracey answered softly, and Draco did not miss Daphne's shift of discomfort. "But…yes, Potter managed to get in. And…" But here she paused and exchanged another look with her friend. Draco looked to Daphne, who licked her lips before answering.

"Something was taken." Her voice was quiet, but self-assured. She looked up at Draco's face. "Something was stolen, even with all the enchantments put in. No one knows what Potter and his friends stole; some second years are taking guesses as to what, but no one believes _them_."

"He was angry though." Tracey's voice was so soft Draco could have pretended not to hear her. "He was very angry; Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange are lucky to be alive." She raised her eyes from the floor, peeking into his face, which he kept pressed into an expressionless mask. "He murdered almost all of the goblins at Gringotts. That's how he angry he was."

Draco just stared at her. He seemed unable to accept what she had just told him. If what Tracey and Daphne said was true, then he – and his family – were in tremendous trouble. He did not have a clue what it was that was hidden away in Aunt Bella's vault that was so important; but if Potter had gone through all the trouble to steal it, and it's disappearance was the reason to the Dark Lord's rage, then he would release his fury on the Malfoys. And Aunt Bella – especially Aunt Bella, for it was her vault in which this item had been so confidently tucked away.

It all made sense now: why the students were so excited, why the teachers appeared so full of hope, why even the Carrows had looked gleeful. Harry Potter had been spotted, along with Weasley and Granger. The Chosen One and his friends were alive, and as long as they remained as such, the students and staff of Hogwarts would continue to resist against the new regime. As for the Carrows, the ultimate downfall of the Malfoys had finally come. That, plus the gradual decline of the Dark Lord's old favorite follower, would give them the opportunity they needed to gain higher favor with the Dark Lord.

A warm hand suddenly touched his, snapping Draco out of his stupor.

"I'm sorry." Tracey told him quietly. Draco believed her; he could see it in her face, knew that she understood. Draco said nothing as he nodded twice before rising slowly. Daphne was looking into her plate, suddenly entertained by swirling her spoon around in her soup. Draco knew that she was saving him the humility, the shame. Draco trudged out of the Great Hall in a helpless daze, the excited whispers of Hogwarts buzzing in his ears, his heart pounding with growing fear.

Draco smiled wryly as he stepped into the girls' bathroom on the second floor. He got a sense of déjà vu as Kate settled herself on the floor by the grand window, facing him. Draco let the heavy door close on its own, with a solid _thud_, before making his way towards the girl. He knew what she wanted, what her plans were, and he once again resented her knack to knowing exactly how he felt. How she did it, he didn't know. The only one who could read him as well as she could was his mother – oh, and Tracey, but he had a feeling that this was just due to her unnatural ability to guess correctly.

"So, what happened?" She looked up at him expectantly, big brown eyes penetrating his. No beating around the bush with this one, he thought dryly as he settled himself beside her. There was no subtlety with Kate; either she attacked or she didn't/ Draco took his time before answering.

"Potter has been spotted. He broke into Gringotts – our bank." He explained when she frowned. "He broke into my aunt's vault. He stole something from in there. Something valuable, something he needed, something…." But he trailed off, because he did not know what that something was. It was so frustrating! To be so involved, to be so wrapped up with everything that was happening, but to be so uninformed and in the dark!

"I don't understand. What does his stealing anything have to do with it? Surely the dark lord is angry just because he was spotted? I don't think it would have made a difference _where_ he was seen, it's just that fact that he _was_ seen and none of you could catch him."

"Maybe," Draco said slowly, frowning. But he didn't think this was the case. There had been something about Tracey had said it. Potter had gotten into the Lestranges' vault. And the Dark Lord had been so furious that he had severely punished both his father and his aunt. _"Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange are lucky to be alive_". That's how Tracey had put it, which meant that the Dark Lord had seen reason to call upon two followers, who had been on house arrest and therefore couldn't possibly have failed to detain Potter, to demand answers and explanations. Draco could not help feeling that there was more to the puzzle than was being said.

"So how did he escape this time?" Kate gave a mocking smile. "Did he finally accomplish something witty and clever?"

"No," Draco snorted. "According to the rumors, he hijacked some dragon that was down in the lower-"

"There is a _dragon_ down in your bank?" She asked sharply.

"Yea, it guards the lower vaults – that's where mine is. Anyways, word is-"

"What type of dragon is it?" She interrupted. He glowered at her.

"How should I know?" He demanded, and she pressed her lips together, disgruntled. "The dragon isn't the issue here, Kate. It's that Potter – precious Potter – has once again gotten away, which means my father is going to get tortured again, and Aunt Bella, and then he's probably going to come after _me_." Heart drumming, his grey eyes searched Kate's as his fears tumbled out of his mouth. She said nothing, just watched him, face no longer displaying displeasure about the dragon at Gringotts. Right now, she just seemed empathetic about his situation. "I don't want to go under the Cruciatus Curse again, Kate." He said softly. Then, so low Kate could barely hear him, "And I don't want to have to do it to Father, either." And the blond Slytherin buried his face in his pale hands.

He feared the latter just as equally as the former. Lucius Malfoy was a man with dignity, with pride. He was the man that Draco had admired for years. To see him writhing on the floor, probably begging for relief, under his son's hands was not an image that Draco wanted to experience first-hand. He had never been asked to torture his father, but there was always a day for firsts, and Draco waited in frantic anticipation for that day to come, wondering what he would do when – _if_, he corrected himself firmly – the moment presented itself.

"I haven't even heard anything about my mother." He scrubbed his hands over his face as this new worry came to him. "I don't know how she deals, what with Father and I Death Eaters, and all the prisoners being sent to our house, and now this." He grimaced. "I've done a lousy job taking care of her."

"Your mother's a strong woman, Draco. She's taken up passive resistance, but believe me, she's strong enough to not crack under all of this."

Draco shook his head.

"She shouldn't have to put up with it, though. She's not even a Death Eater!" Kate reached over, placing a cool hand on his forearm. A mangled smile appeared on her face, but her brown eyes darkened.

"That's the problem, though, isn't it? Ironic, how the more people you care about, the more people you love, the more people you care about, the harder others can hurt you." Draco swallowed uncomfortably, knowing she was talking about family. His, though strained and hurt, was still alive. Her family, however, had been murdered by the followers on the Dark Lord – among those followers, his father.

"You need family, Kate." He told her quietly, firmly. "You don't leave your family. We may not be good but we are loyal and true to each other. I need them, Kate." Pain clouded her deep brown eyes, and she looked away to hide it.

He said nothing. No words of comfort or sympathy could heal what had been done to her. Her friends were gone, her village demolished, and her family burned. He could not imagine being without his parents. He could double-cross just about anyone, if it meant escaping unbearable pain or further bettering his name. He would feel guilty, of course, for using someone else's demise to bring forth his gain, but the guilt would pass and he would forget. Family, however, would always be there for you, would fight and scheme for you to the end; that was a lesson his mother had taught him, it was something his father repeated. It didn't matter if the world was falling around him; he would always have his mother and father to turn to, and they would always have him to protect them. You didn't just turn your back on family.

"What is good?" She asked, breaking the silence. Draco glanced up at her, confused. "You said that you might not be good. What's 'good', to you? What's a 'good' person?"

"Well, a good person is someone like Potter, isn't it?" He responded darkly. "Someone who is brave, who is liked by everyone, or almost everyone, is 'good'. Someone who fights for everyone else, instead of defends himself. Like a Gryffindor," he gave a cold barking laugh. "You don't have to be sensible or intelligent, but people like them and they are 'good'." He looked at her, dead in the eye, eyes as cold and hard as steel. "Anyone not a Slytherin is 'good'. Slytherins are 'evil'." He spat he word, anger bubbling up in his chest. That was the difference between 'good' and 'evil'. It was Potter versus the Dark Lord. Oh, it used to be about the purity of one's ancestral blood, and the preservation of the purity. But now, it was good and evil. The pure-bloods – the Slytherins – Draco, himself – were tossed in with the Dark Lord, and branded as 'evil'. Everyone else got brained-washed to follow precious Potter with his stupid scar. _That_ was the difference between 'good' and 'evil'.

"People aren't born evil, Draco." Kate spoke calmly, gently, yet firmly. "It's what you do, how you do it, and why you do it that makes you bad or good. There are no bad people."

"No bad people?" Draco questioned in disbelief. "Am I hearing you correctly? So you don't consider – oh, I don't know – the Dark Lord to be evil? After everything he did to you, and me and hundreds of other people?"

She thought carefully before answering.

"My heart resonates with every living organism that contains a heart. I am connected to just about all creatures. I am connected to the birds, the dogs, the squid in the lake," she cracked a tiny smile, "But I am also connected to people, Draco. I am connected to every child here in the school. I _could_ have been connected to every single Death Eater – though, quite frankly, I was so furious at the time that I pushed those connections away. I am connected with _you_." She peered intensely at him. "Probably more so than I have ever been connected to anyone else, too." Draco felt his insides warm at her words, felt his mind go giddy. Though he was pleased with her words, for her praise, he still could not determine what this had to do with people being evil – or not evil, as was the case.

"But I am not connected to the Dark Lord, or his snake, for that matter." Worry etched across her face. "It's very odd; I have never encountered something like that before. I cannot reach him, I cannot hear him. It is as if he is not human."

"Well, he's not, really. I mean, well, have you _seen_ him?" Draco scoffed. "He doesn't bloody well look normal, now does he?"

"No, no, you misunderstand me. He can look as disfigured as he would please, and I should still have some connection with him. What I mean is: it is as if he no longer has a heart. He no longer has a functioning, beating heart." She frowned.

"No heart? But, you can't live without a heart. You'd die." Draco's brow was furrowed, as he tried to make sense of the girl's nonsense. If the Dark Lord had no heart – literally, had no heart, not that he had no compassion – then he would be dead. Draco knew, solidly, that the Dark Lord was very much alive.

"I know! That's why it's so odd. I can't figure it out. His snake too. It's as if… it's as if the heart has been ripped apart, and only a tiny piece of it has been left in each of them. Not enough to consider having a heart and being whole, but just enough to be able to escape death." Her frown turned down the corners of her mouth, and her brown eyes gazed off as she immersed herself in her own thoughts.

Draco just stared at her. The girl was making no sense whatsoever. How could someone have their heart ripped out? They would die, surely. There was no magic that could replace or meddle in the very basic laws of nature and biology. For one to live, one needed a heart, plain and simple. Oh, all right, unless you were a tree or perhaps a unicellular organism like an amoeba or bacteria or something. But Kate didn't classify those things as animals anyways so it didn't matter.

"Mother said that in the first war," Draco said softly. "All they wanted was to keep pure-bloods elite, to keep the pure magical line from dying off. That was the whole point; just keep the Muggles out, because they get jealous that we have magic and then they start attacking us. It's happened many times, each time because some fool has the brilliant idea that Muggles and wizards should mix. That's what the war was about last time. It made sense. I'll admit, it got a bit out of hand, but it made _sense_. But now… we're fighting something that doesn't make sense anymore. _I_ don't want to fight anymore. I don't want to do the things I have to do."

There was quiet between the two then, the only sounds the rhythmic dripping of water from one of the broken faucets. Her fingers eventually found his left arm, and Draco become blissfully aware of her thin fingers brushing over his skin, returning to her habit of tracing the black skull and snake on his forearm. Her touch flushed him with warmth, and the quiet lulled him into a content state. His eyes were just beginning to flutter close when she spoke, hesitant and quiet.

"You know, you never did tell me what happened between you and that old man last year."

He jerked his head up stiffly, and her brown eyes bore into his grey ones. So, they were back to this?

"It isn't important. Not anymore." He mumbled, looking away. He didn't want to talk about this; he _really_ didn't want to talk about this. Not now, when things had seemd so peaceful between them. Why couldn't she just let it go? Why did she feel the need to pry out the deepest, darkest part of his heart? He had buried that memory way down in the depths of his soul so that it could never bubble up and haunt him again. He had promised himself not to allow that memory of that night to affect him, to weaken him.

"Draco, please? I need to know. You keep trying to make it seem like it was no big deal, but something happened that night that bothers you. I know that you were asked to kill him! I know that he died, that he was killed.

"You could never understand." He snapped, as irritation pricked at him like a million needles. Why couldn't she just let it go, damn it! He was not some dead insect ready to be dissected in Transfiguration! Besides, what would come of it? She would hate him; how would she not, when he hated himself, was repulsed by himself, because of that night? She would leave him forever, thinking ill of him. He had lived through that once; he could not do it again.

"What wouldn't I understand?" Her voice rose several notches, exasperated, and she pushed herself to her feet.

"Why must you know so much about everyone?" His voice rose to match her volume, and he could hear the bitterness in it.

"I don't want to know everything about everyone, I just want to know about you because I _care_, Draco, and I know how it is to feel alone! I've felt pain, too, I can help you if you would just let me!"

He didn't answer, just cast his gaze down at the floor and began to pick idly at his black school robes. Well, wasn't this ironic, he thought wryly. He had just gotten her back, had finally come to terms with her, and now look where they were: back to the beginning, bickering about the same thing.

"Why? Why are you closing up on me again? Draco I'm here for you! Whatever you want to believe about the world, and about good and evil, and anyone else, you _must_ know that I am here for _you_."

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes; it took great effort, but he knew it would not help his case in this matter – not with Kate.

"Kate, I know what you are going to say, but I've told you, I don't need you help-"

"You need to let it out, Draco! You need to tell me what happened that night, because you are never going to find peace until you do. And I want to be here for you – truly I do – but I can't wait forever! I'm tired of being pushed away. You can't keep everything locked up to yourself forever!"

"Oh yes I can!" Draco mumbled childishly, but instantly regretted it. She huffed with impatience.

"No, you can't! Like it or not, it's the way it's got to be. If you want to love me, you need to love yourself first."

Then she whirled around and stalked out of Myrtle's bathroom, leaving the pale blond boy gazing after him, two emotions battling each other on his face: anger from a wounded pride and sorrow from a torn heart.

* * *

**well, that's all for now. oh, i shoud mention that two songs inspired some of these motifs/symbols/quotes. _Whatever It Takes _by Lifehouse, and _The Good Left Undone_ by Rise Against.  
****things will be speeding along after this chapter. you all already (i'm assuming) have read the books, so i won't be ruining anything by saying that the Battle of Hogwarts is coming up!! yay! can't wait to start writing on that.**

**anyways, if any of you are interested, my other HP fic is ont he Black sisters, and it's called _"Sisters Forever"_. it's just a collection of short scenes that show the relationship of Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa. oh, and if you could visit my profile and answer the poll question that would be great, because i would love to know how you all pronounce "Andromeda".**

**ok, i'm done, hoped you enjoyed, and please leave a review! :)**


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